Friday poem: Christmas, London by Lucy Wright

Christmas, London

Lucy Wright

As lights radiate the street,

It all tends to depend

On what the year became—

How we greet this end.

For some, brightness is sadness:

All they didn’t quite do.

For others, it’s simply more bliss.

Drinkers raise their cups,

Songs thread through the square—

Eliciting vague reactions,

Split by the quiet factions:

The lucky, the not-so.

Some always deem life a doddle:

Pop stars with their singles,

Tech giants with valuations.

Others must intermingle,

Faces quietly brave

About the harder facts.

They too watch the year’s last hours.

And yet, perhaps they feel it—

In their vulnerable hearts—

That life is, on balance, good.

That someone, somewhere,

Is always being born—

One who might, one day,

Change things

By what they give away.