Christmas Sonnet 

By David Tremayne-Smith

Conscience tells me the season has come around,
Here again, the ‘clock’ worked time for giving,
Rotating emotion, love of the pound,
Instead of really loving, we give in.
So much worthless money, blindly misspent,
Thrown away to boost the ego’s coffer,
Mechanically wrapped, of love not a scent,
Another meaningless, “ ‘special’ offer “,
Structured seasons breathe structured emotion,
Gifts plucked at random, with last-minute thought,
In a selfish, blinkered, mad commotion,
From ‘poisoned’ shelves, poison presents are sought,
This Christmas I give to you a sonnet,
Sorry, value can’t be placed upon it.

David is an avid language learner and trainer as well as a coach.  He’s been living in Paris for 18 years and has recently acquired French nationality in addition to his British one.
You can find him on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/mamakin21/ where he posts beautiful pictures.