My gift for the child:
No wife, kids, home;
No money sense. Unemployable.
Friends, yes. But the wrong sort —
The workshy, women, wogs,
Petty infringers of the law, persons
With notifiable diseases,
Poll tax collectors, tarts;
The bottom rung.
I think we'll make it
Public, prolonged, painful.
Right, said the baby. That was roughly
What we had in mind.
— From Christmas Poems - BC:AD, Peterloo Poets.
God of love, Father of all,
the darkness that covered the earth
has given way to the bright dawn of your Word made flesh.
Make us a people of this light.
Keep us faithful to your Word
that we may bring your life to the waiting world.
We ask through Christ our Lord. Amen.
—International Committee on English in the Liturgy