The Beast and the Harrow

From constellations in the night sky

To his worst nightmare on Christmas night.

Alpha Carinae, it shines so bright.

The harrow up above bears new life.

In the last hour of December 24th

It's in its highest not far up north,

But closer still to the equator

Can be seen the fruit of the creator.

When the clock strikes twelve at night, such a grim and deathly sight.

Through the streets he wades and bellows towing on his heavy harrow.

At summer's end, by the first September rain,

The land is ploughed in preparation for the grain.

The harrow tugged across the fields

To exterminate all the unwanted weeds.

By the strength of man or ox,

Painstaking, blood, sweat, tears.

A tale that lived and prospered

Throughout the centuries and years.

When the clock strikes twelve at night, such a grim and deathly sight.

Through the streets he wades and bellows towing on his heavy harrow.

This night is endless, while I count the holes throughout this sieve.

It has been written for those who do believe.

I shall not sleep in observance of this feast.

I won't become him - the harrow and the beast.

At the early break of dawn, by the knell of the Pater Noster

There's only one thing left to ask: Who is the man and who is the monster?