Hustle and Bustle

By H. W. Bryce

The hustle and bustle inside the big mall
Where the smartest big tree stands ever so tall–
It takes a bit of the gall to elbow your way
And still be polite in the spirit of good will–
You have to move on, you cannot stand still,
As people are rushing from stall to choice stall
Amassing big boxes and the prettiest bags
To fill little stockings and dress up the tree–
A virtual feast for eager young eyes in the morning to see;
And, of course, there are gifts for the grand old ME!

While out on the street the scene repeats,
Faces with smiles pop in and out of the shops–
It seems that the hustle and bustle and greed never stops–
And places for coffee have filled all of their seats
While the good folks of the town congratulate selves
For being on such a benevolent quest.

Then it’s back to the last of the last-minute shopping,
Still have some dollars before limit starts topping,
Must get it all done before the shops close
But take time out at Studio One for a pose
You’ll still have some time to sort and to wrap–
Oh! Must get the wine and the booze and the cheese
Never mind, next month the pinch on your finances will ease,
And there still is some time to try on new clothes
And to rejoin the hustle and bustle of crowds
And add some buzz to the buzz that’s ever so loud,
No one will see wrong and all will agree with a nod:
Deadline is now met and uncle’s your Bob.

Out in the street in ragged clothes,
Holes in the soles, chill wind blows,
No home, no tree, no shelter at all,
As cold and as lost as an icy shiver,
And hope fading fast to merely a glimmer…
Shops are all closed, dark as the gloom
In the heart of the soul in the street
Wandering lost, there’s no one to meet—
The hustle and bustle has all gone home
To their comfy abodes and warm to the bone.

Outside of the homes all lit up and gay
Stumbles the ragged and bony wee man,
Stomach is rumbling, feet are all wet,
Icicles hang from his beard.
The trees in the windows all lit up and neat,
The music within all Christmas and heard
All up and all down the most comfortable street–
When all of a sudden from out of the deep
Sadness of this humble street man
Comes the sound of a wee voice, “Hello Mr. Man.
Are you sure that you are all right?”
The man turns around and sees a small child–
The child sees a face and…a human inside.
She holds out her wee hand and and he wraps it in his;
She hands him a gift bag she was carrying home
And leads the poor man to a shed in the yard.
“You can stay here, Mr. Man, out of the cold,
And please enjoy the contents of this bag.
I must run now back home to my mom.
God bless you, Mr. Man, have a warm night.”

Mr. Man opened the bag and found Christmas cake,
Ginger ale and warm socks, checkers and board,
Glow sticks and warm gloves – what a great hoard;
And the bitterness that had bitten his heart
Melted away, and what had torn him apart
Suddenly seemed but a trife,
An impediment to just getting on in his life.
He swore he’d do better and start right away,
Right after the girl’s generous offer to stay.

He ate well, got warm, lay down–
And forgave all of those who have
As they’ve earned what they’ve got.
And he just knew that he’d find a new way.
And as he fell asleep that life-changing day,
He found in his heart that something he’d sought–
A little of kindness, a lot of good will–
And his loneliness finally rested, quite still,
And he whispered in his whispery way,
“Well, Christmas is found in the heart anyway.”

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Illustrations from Clip Art. Cart drawing by HikingArtist.com
Beggar man drawing listed only as Staurt.

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