BY BOB FUSELIER
Los Alamos

‘Twas a month before Christmas
And all through the nation
The people were anxious
And manning their stations.
When Big Money decided
It’s that time of year
To grant all a reprieve,
From their anger and fear.
Big Money’s no fool;
He’d grown strong and, yes, bold.
But his streets were in need
Of more layers of gold.
He deserved it, you see,
He worked hard this past year.
Installing his minions
With false pride and big fear.
It took hard work to buy
All those hearts and those minds.
They came from everyone,
You and me, all peoples, all kinds.
They came from the rich.
They came from the poor.
They came from the lady
Minding the store.
They came from the powerful.
They came from the weak.
The came from most everyone,
Save the humble and meek.
Big Money is mighty
Like a fortress of steel.
But he hides well from the masses
The truth: he’s not real.
He’s just an illusion,
A facade we’ve all made.
Formed of our fear, our greed,

Of the lies that we’ve laid.
Big Money needs this season,
One of hope and true peace.
When he owns it he knows
Greed and fear aren’t released.
But out west in the mountains,
In the forests of pines,
The answer to Big Money
Is easy to find.
The storms here are cruel with
Their cold wind and deep snow,
But the mornings that follow
Are something to know.
The mountain sky’s deep blue
Lies beyond all description.
The peace and the quiet are
A needed prescription.
By the air, crisp and cold,
One’s dreams are awakened.
Fear and greed have no chance,
Their foundations are shaken.
The Light from the sun is
Neither hoarded nor hidden.
It’s refracted and reflected,
Again and again, freely given.
The Light of these mountains,
Seen by heart and by reason,
Symbolize the sanctity
Of the upcoming season.
It celebrates the birth
Of one who saw well,
Of he who offered hope
From our fears of our hells.
Some call him a prophet,
Others a savior.
Still others a simple man
Of most perfect behavior.

Through stories and parables
He revealed the world’s fate:
We can’t live if we’re blind
To our greed and our hate.
The answer he preached
Is to open our eyes,
To see that it’s our heart
Where the change we need lies.
Big Money step aside
It is we who now speak
All of us here
Both the strong and the weak.
This season’s not yours.
It is sent from above.
It is meant to be filled
With faith, hope, and love.
And so…
From the mountains out west,
I wish as I end,
May this season be filled
With family and friends.
And like the Light on the snow
From the sky that’s so true,
May a Grace that’s freely given
Fill our world… and you, too.

Editor’s note: Bob Fuselier wrote this Christmas poem many years ago and says, “Nothing seems to change”. Merry Christmas, Bob. Keep on writing!