I was asked to write a poem for Christmas that was read during the Broadwindsor Church carol service

What are you dreaming of this Christmas?

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write;

Can there be a more well-known song that fills us with delight

And ideas of the perfect Christmas we all want and hope will be,

Whether it’s drinks with friends ‘til midnight or being with our family.


For some the day brings hope renewed; a birth, a brand new start

For those weighed down by life’s cruel cuts, with sad and heavy heart.

For some the day brings families home, back from distant shores,

Open arms and welcome hugs, a time to stop and pause

And think about those we love whether near or far away,

Always close, and in our mind, and in our heart they’ll stay.


But what does Christmas mean to you, does it make you think

Of all the things you have to buy, the presents, food and drink?

You shop online ’til late at night when everyone’s in bed,

No more dragging heavy bags, as vans deliver instead

Your Christmas cheer arrives in boxes, marked with Amazon,

Your children’s toys, grandma’s socks and someone’s Xbox One.

Your credit cards are used in full, your cash has long run out,

You’ve made sure every item’s bought, of that there is no doubt.

You wrap each one and pile them high, in every shape and size,

‘til Christmas morn awakes to sounds of children’s excited cries.


But wait, step back and take a look at all that lies around;

The money spent, your hard earned cash, is scattered on the ground.

The gifts you bought, whilst generous, are easily ignored,

A fleeting shout before the next is often your reward.

But look beyond the wrapping torn, the toys and iPhone 6,

The wizardry of all that tech is fleeting, playing tricks

On those who think it must be had, no matter what the cost.

But somewhere in amongst it all, the Christmas spirit’s lost.

St Michael

So strip away the frantic search, the online late night trawl,

Remove the want, the now, the must, the need to have it all.

The Three Wise Men who brought their gifts of incense, gold and myrrh,

The shepherd boy had nothing but the warmth of sheepskin fur.

They’d seen a light; they’d heard a voice that spoke of peace to all,

They found the king of every man in a lowly cattle stall.

finch launder money box

It’s not the wealth that makes us rich, or the presents piled up high,

It’s not the latest tech or phone, it’s something you can’t buy.

So when you wake on Christmas morn to celebrate a birth,

It’s what you have inside of you that brings us peace on Earth.

Thomas Coram

About Sophia Moseley

Freelance Copywriter, Feature Writer and Author. Looking for that illusive job that every working mother craves but surviving, just, on what I can find. My writing and poetry keeps my sane. Watch this space.
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