The Poor Man's Christmas
Mistletoe hang from the ceiling
And somehow it gets me to feeling
That the Season of Christmas is here
A time of enjoyment and cheer.
At Christmas most people feel fine
And generally have a good time
On turkey and pudding they dine
And wash it all down with red wine.
The old man spends Christmas alone
A cold, dreary shack for a home
His sole comfort on Christmas Night
A solitary candle-light.
In Christmas there isn't much cheer
If you haven't the price of a beer
With scarce little money to spend
And no one you can call a friend.
Christmas bring this man no joy
It always seem to pass him by
To this man each day is the same
He care not if Christmas never came.
This poor man unhealthy and weak
Has to live on one hundred and eighty dollars a week
Has to struggle for to make ends meet
To buy shoes, clothes and enough food for to eat.
He looks to the coming New Year
In hopeless dejection and fear,
Fear that the harsh Winter cold
Will take toll on one frail and old.
Comments about this poem (The Poor Man's Christmas by Francis Duggan )
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