This season always makes me wish for peace,
Or dream of it at least, as I ignore
The signs of its receding from the world:
The headlines’ promise of another war,

Or dream of it at least, as I ignore
An unkempt man who begs for change, who keeps
The headlines’ promise of another war.
The rich against the poor, it’s me against

This unkempt man who begs for change, who keeps
Reminding me of my humanity.
The rich against the poor–it’s me against
The forces of injustice, all alone.

Reminding me of my humanity,
My coffee burns my tongue. It hurts to drink
In bed last night, I dreamed this happy dream:

My coffee burned my tongue, it hurt to drink
Because I’d nearly died from thirst and then
In bed–O last of nights!–I dreamed. This dream
Was like my dream of peace, except peace won

Because there was no death, no thirst. And then
The world was pure again, receiving gifts
And giving them. I toss the man my change.
This season always makes me question peace.