Sense Sonnet - Steamer

Constant Variable

It was the morn of Christmas Eve.
Beside ourselves, we wondered why
We found it such sweet sorrow to grieve.
The funny business made us cry.
Excessive deficits to pay,
To let benevolent despots,
Those jumbo shrimp - catch of the day,
Wage civil wars like drawing lots.
"Killed by some friendly fire," so said
Military intelligence.
Riot control - cold comfort, dead;
Live coverage, but same difference.

From the four corners of the Earth,
Broken connections on Christ's birth.