This Sunday, LC reflects on his Christmas poem

As you who follow The Bug may know, we write a poem for Christmas each year.  Sometimes I write it, sometimes she writes it, often we lightly edit each other's poems, sometimes we even collaborate.  However, I'm pretty sure LC authored the following, all on his own (thankfully The Bug approved):

Exerpt from Our 2001 Christmas Poem

Sunday, 9-9, Rehobeth Beach.

Great earth mother lapping

At our feet, her pups

Come home for a bath.

Our souls refreshed by the sea,

We gave no care or thought

Of what hell would be

Wrought in this land come 9-11.

Bright morning sun, a drive

In the park, a stop, a search,

Anger in a Ranger’s eyes,

Hints, then finally the news.

American Babel,

Now ashes and rubble.

Divine will? How ill I become

At such a thought.

On 9-11, the God Who Is One

Surely sighed and trembled

And cried for what those

Misguided children had done.

For those of you who are familiar with the at times raunchy, often side-splitting satire of The Onion, in one of their most profound moments, they addressed the 9-11 attacks, and inspired this poet, thusly (caution: the Almighty has a bit of a potty mouth): http://www.theonion.com/articles/god-angrily-clarifies-dont-kill-rule,222/