Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh

Mine should be gold, not necessarily ingots,
But necklace or chain, a ring or a crown,
All twenty four carats of it
For the man of the manger.
     But all I can find is the last rose of the year -
     ‘Golden Wedding’ freshly cut
     To leave in the stable of birth
     Like a posy of memory on the lamp-post of death.
I should carry frankincense
Gummed resin prepared for the priesthood.
Censer-swinging in high church ceremonial
Allowing smells of religiosity to linger.
     Rather capture the aroma of the Christmas market
     Of caramelised pop-corn, coated and roasted,
     Spiced candles with a double dose of cinnamon
     For a stable that has not yet given light to the world.
Bitter-perfumed myrrh should be mine;
A little ointment from a doctor’s bag
If not the embalmer’s potion;
Ancient apothecary with a pharmacopoeia for a farmyard.
     But all I have is a little left-over vapo-rub;
     Eucalyptol and menthol blended in camphorated oils
     To give to the babe of today who’s bound
     To have more than heartaches before it’s all over.
On visiting the German Christmas Market on London’s South Bank.
December 2011 

Other verse for Chrsitmas -  Incarnation  Journey from Babylon  Credit Crunch Magnificat  Mary's Meditation  Christmas Ding Dong,  The Meeting