Abundance brings me thankfulness
While famine brings me shame
Or abundance makes me forget that
I ever called on God by name.
Three months old in a haystack
Hope for more than just a hunch
The proof is in the pudding
While the pudding is in my lunch.
Jesus makes me happy
Mohammad makes me think
Agnostics keep me searching
While death just makes me stink.
Inconsolable at the outcome
What a reflection can become
Stress, duress, and excess
In remembrance of a Son?
Affluent ever reaching
“Infant weeps” for no cause
Maybe something’s in his eggnog
And lactose has given him pause.