On a dark and dreary street
In the deepest darkest heart
Of the capital of a country
Still reeling from the shock
Of the discovery of its own frailty
On a Christmas night, hid
From the reaches of holiness
Peals of laughter sound
Beneath a railway bridge
Men and women gather
In a tavern, gaily lit
And warmly welcoming
To travellers on this night
Damp and dishevelled
Clapping their arms
Against their sides, they rejoice
Glass of wine in hand,
They greet each other
With kisses and slaps
On the shoulder, as if
In congratulation
For some deed or other
They form circles, smoking,
Drinking and ever laughing
In their hearts, they believe,
They are invincible
Protected by their own mirth
They feel no pain
Shielded by a smeary, bleary
Window, at which I can
Only press my nose
Outside, I am a spirit
Ephemeral as the winter wind
A ghost of a ghost, unseen
And unremarked by revellers
With good cheer in their thoughts
And no room in their hearts
I will lie outside their shield of glass
Forgotten for another year
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