Homeless Wassail

"Wassail, wassail, all over the town,
Our cup is white & our ale is brown"
But huddled on the iron grate
we poor and hungry curse our fate.

No wassail bowl for such as these
No turkey scraps, no ale nor cheese,
This Christmas Eve our heart's desire
Is a bottle of gin & a trashcan fire.

Good Christian, mind, as home you go
With dreams of holly & mistletoe
That the holly bears a dreadful thorn
For those who wake to a frozen dawn.

Oh, where is He, that holy child
Once born of Mary, meek & mild?
And whither peace, goodwill to men
Now & forevermore, amen?

All ye who dine with face aglow
In Reninensi atrio ["in the Queen's hall"—Latin]
Pray pause awile at pleasure's door
And sup some sorrow with the poor.

"Wassail, wassail,all over the town,
Our cup is white and our ale is brown"
This cold & hunger, pain & care
Sweet Jesus Christ, it's hard to bear.

words & lyrics by Ian Robb. Copyright 1998 Ian Robb/SOCAN. All rights reserved.