Rain on Christmas Day

Neither sun nor snow to brighten the darkness
Or cheer the skies hanging heavy with cloud –
Dull and featureless in shades of grey,
Wet and drenched, muddying the paths
Trampled inside to prove it’s a stable;
Angels grounded with wings sodden
As they open up the broken brollies;
Shepherds shelter by the side of the house
Where the fire smoulders with wet wood;
Wise men moaning about the British weather
Blanketing their star, quenching their faith,
So they lose their way to the child of Bethlehem
And end up in Bosham with King Canute
Telling Herod there are some things you just can’t stop.
November 2013