the Christmas trees are burning
the child is dying of thirst under
one of them the embarrassed
kings are bringing burning coals
the white star crushes down
like the angry gods of New York
or Paris or Rio glittering Rio
where the message is like the sun
to get angry also and in anger rise up
in flames for a better tomorrow
a tomorrow that is always tomorrow
just little tomorrow that strange one
you sometimes see playing in the street
whose mother is always calling him home
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