THE FATHER'S SONG

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

THE FATHER’S SONG

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.