Saturday, 23 December 2017


I offer you this on this Christmas Eve, this blessed day, this day of wonder in many coats.


My Son.
My cuddly, lovely Son.
I’d swing him, make him laugh.
I held him, in my arms,
So warm to me.
And how he’d sit
Upon my lap,
All safe and cuddled up.
A kiss upon his lovely head,
And gently lift him into bed.
His smile, a beam of purest joy.
My own, my precious little boy.

The angels all adore him.
And, in utter wonder,
Fall before him.
He’s set upon a royal throne
The hope and praise of Man alone.

My Son.
My own, my heart,
My precious, lovely Son.
And shall I give him
Up to you?
Just, hand him over?
For you to do
What you like
With spear and spike?
To accuse
And roughly use?
To hit
And spit
And rail
And nail?
To cross, and kill?

Yes, I will.
For you,
I will.
My Son,
My precious, lovely Son.
For you
Are precious, too.

Chris Cottee 2010.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Please leave a comment!


In 3 days time, on Saturday 28th July, I will be exactly the same age my dad was when he died. He was 64 and 2 weeks. It was no age, we all...