A POEM by Paul Curtis, BASED ON THE STORY by
Charles Dickens “A
CHRISTMAS CAROL”
VERSE 6 – BACK IN
CAMDEN TOWN
Now the only emotion
that the phantom could show
Caused by the death,
was only one of pleasure though
“Let me see some
tenderness connected with a death,”
Said Scrooge; “Some
tenderness spirit is my request”
The Ghost conducted
him through alley and street
Road, lane and
thoroughfare all of them familiar to his feet
And as they went
along, Scrooge looked here and there
To find himself, but
he could not see himself anywhere
They reached poor Bob
Cratchit's humble house again
And found around the
fire sat mother and children
It was Quiet. Very
quiet unnaturally so in Scrooges views
Even The noisy little
Cratchit’s were as still as statues
Sat in a corner,
looking up at Peter, who was reading
The mother and her
daughters were engaged in sewing
It was very quiet as
he read from the book before him
“And he took a child,
and set him in the midst of them.”
The mother laid her
work upon the table at her side
Put her hand to her
face to hide the tear she’d cried
“The color hurts my
eyes,” she said to the children
Then Mrs. Cratchit
said, “They're better now again,
Sewing by candlelight
makes them weak rather
And I wouldn't want to
show weak eyes to your father
Not for the world I
wouldn’t” she heard a bell chime
“No not when he comes
home, it must be near his time.”
“Past it rather,”
Peter answered, shutting up his book.
Then he walked to the
window so that he could look
Then he said “But I
think he's walked a little slower
These last few
evenings, than he used to, mother”
They were quiet again.
Until she broke the silence
And in a steady,
cheerful voice, only faltering once
“I have known him walk
with Tiny Tim on his shoulder
Very fast indeed.”
“And so have I, often” cried Peter
“And so have I,”
exclaimed another. So had they all.
“He was very light to
carry,” she continued to recall
Resuming her work,
“And his father loved him so,
That it was no
trouble” she faltered “No trouble, no”
“There your father at
the door!” continued the mother
She hurried to meet
him as Bob stood in his comforter
He sat beside the fire
as his wife prepared some tea
And they all tried to
settle him down comfortably
Then the two young
Cratchit’s got up on his knees
And each child kissed
his cheek to set him at ease
He feigned good cheer
and spoke to them all pleasantly
And Bob saw their work
and he praised the industry
And the speed that
Mrs. Cratchit and the girls display
He said they would be
done long before next Sunday
“Sunday Robert! You
went to-day, then?” she said
“Yes I went their
today, my dear,” Bob responded
“I wish you had come,
you could have seen It then
Seen how green a place
it is but you'll see it often.
I promised him that I
would walk there on a Sunday”
His words deserted him
then and he could only say
“My little, little
child!” cried Bob. “My little son!”
He broke down the loss
was to great of his little one
He couldn't help it.
It was the price of feeling love
He left the room, and
went up to the room above,
Which was lit
cheerfully, and hung with Christmas.
And he entered and saw
the cause of his distress
There was a chair set
close beside the child’s bed
And he composed
himself and kissed the little head
When he was reconciled
to the loss of his little son
He went down stairs
content to be with everyone
They drew about the
fire, and huddled against the chill
And talked at length
the girls and mother working still
Bob told them of the
act of extraordinary kindness
By Mr. Scrooge's
nephew who witnessed his distress
When they had met that
very day in Camden town
And noticing that Bob
looked more than a little down
Inquired what had
happened to distress Bob Cratchit
“And as he is a nice
fellow” said Bob, “I told him all of it.
'I am heartily sorry
for it, Mr. Cratchit’, he said to me,
'And heartily sorry
for your good wife most heartily’.
“By the bye, how he
ever knew that, I don't know.”
“Knew what, my dear?”
she said continuing to sew
“Why, that you were a
good wife,” Bob said warmly
“Everybody knows that,”
said Peter very proudly
“Very well observed,”
cried Bob. “I hope they do.
'Heartily sorry,' he
said, 'sorry for the both of you.
If I can be of service
to you in any way,' said he,
Giving me his card, 'I
live here. Pray come to me.”
It really seemed as if
he knew our Tiny Tim, and felt it”
“I'm sure he's a good
dear soul,” said Mrs. Cratchit.
“I shouldn't be at all
surprised so mark what I say,”
Bob said, “If he got
Peter a better situation one day
And Peter will make
his way in some way or other
But however and
whenever we part from one another,
I am sure we shall
none of us forget poor Tiny Tim”
“Never, father!” cried
them all. “We’ll never forget him”
“I know, my dears,
that when we recollect how patient
And how mild he was
and how happy and content
And although he was a
little, little child we shall not
Easily quarrel, among
ourselves” Bob said “and forget
Poor Tiny Tim in doing
it.” “No, never!” they all said
“I am very happy,”
said Bob, “I am very contented!”
Mrs. Cratchit kissed
him; his daughters kissed him,
The two young
Cratchit’s kissed him and he kissed them
Peter shook his
father’s hands and gave a foppish nod
Spirit of Tiny Tim,
thy childish essence was from God
VERSE 7 – WRITING ON
THE STONE
“Spectre! Something
tells me but I don’t know how”
Said Scrooge “That our
parting moment is at hand now
Tell me what man that
was whom we saw lying dead?”
The spirit did not
speak yet conveyed him on instead
The Ghost of Christmas
Yet to Come led him, as before
Through a different
time, to another place in the future
“This court,” said
Scrooge, “Is a very familiar location
And that’s my counting
house and place of occupation
Spirit of the future
let me behold what I shall be
In the days to come
and see what becomes of me”
The Spirit stopped but
the hand pointed elsewhere.
“It’s here” He
exclaimed. “Why do you point there?”
But the bony spectral
finger continued to point away
Scrooge rushed over to
his office window anyway
He looked in, It was
an office still, but not his own
The furniture was not
the same and décor unknown
And the figure in the
chair was not Scrooge clearly
The Phantom just
pointed as before disinterestedly
Scrooge rejoined it
once again and they continued
Until through iron
gates a churchyard he viewed
Here than in a
churchyard the man who lay dead
Under the sheet now
lay beneath the earth instead
The Spirit stood among
the graves, and pointed to one
Scrooge advanced to it
trembling, as it must be done
“Spirit before I draw
nearer to that stone’s location,”
Pleaded Scrooge,
“Answer me just one question.
Are these the shadows
of the things that will be,
Or are they shadows of
things that May be, only?”
Still the Ghost
pointed to the grave it was stood by
Despite no response
Scrooge was resigned to try
“Men's courses will
foreshadow,” he began to plead
Certain ends, which,
if persevered in, they must lead,”
“But if the courses be
departed from, the ends will be
Changed, Say it is
thus with what you show me.”
Scrooge crept towards
the grave trembling madly
And read on the cold
stone, Ebeneezer Scrooge. R.I.P.
“Am I that man who lay
upon the bed?” he cried,
Slumped to his knees
he begged the spirit to confide
The finger went from
the grave to him and back again.
“No, Spirit! Please
don’t send me to that dark domain”
“Good Spirit!” he
cried, clutching at its robe tightly,
The finger still was
there pointing. “Spirit hear me”
I’m not the man I was
and I won’t be that man again
That I must have been
but for this spiritual campaign
Why show me this, if I
am past all hope good spirit?”
“Oh Good Spirit,” he
pursued and fell down before it
“Assure me that, by an
altered life, you guarantee
I may change these
shadows you have shown me.”
Then Scrooge with his
hands trembling held his head
“I will honor
Christmas in my heart”, Scrooge said
And I will try to keep
it all the year you can be sure
I will live in the
Past, the Present, and the Future
And within me shall
strive The Spirits of all Three
I will not shut out
the lessons that they teach me
Oh, please tell me”
Scrooge cried in a pleading tone
That I may sponge away
the writing on this stone!”
In his agony, he
caught the spectral hand of the spirit
It sought to free
itself, but he was strong, and held it
The Spirit, stronger,
shook him and left him prostrate
He held up his hands
in a last prayer to save his fate
He saw a change in
hood and dress of his spirit host
It shrunk, collapsed,
and dwindled into a bedpost
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