The Christmas Rich

You could hear the children's laughter
as they opened up the door
dragging in the old large sagebrush
across the kitchen floor.

They strung popcorn and made paper chains
by the lanterns flickering light.
The smell of hot bread baking
filled the air of winter's night.

They'd seen Christmas trees on the corner lot
for fifty cents it seemed.
But fifty cents was hard to find;
to have a tree was just a dream.

The dutch oven was filled with rabbit
their Mom caught just yesterday.
They had laughed to watch her catch it
in a most unusual way.

She'd taken a wire hanger
and in it twisted a cork screw.
She put it down a rabbit's hole
where there was one or two.

She twisted around the hanger
until the fur was caught.
It always seemed to work
since there was rabbit in the pot.

The cold December wind howled
and blew drifts against the door.
They snuggled down around the fire
as they had done so oft before.

She told them the story of Bethlehem
where the small Christ Child was born.
He slept wrapped up in swaddling clothes
with a manger to keep Him warm.

She told how men adored Him;
how angels' voice did sing,
how shepherds' flocks stood guarding
this newborn Heavenly King.

She told them of His gift to them.
She told them of His love
given to each of them forever;
a gift from God above.

Sleep filled their eyes as she stoked the fire
and tucked them in their bed,
placing three small ones at the bottom,
the two larger at the head.

She kissed them and thanked God above
as she'd done so oft before
and they drifted off to sleep
not knowing they were poor.

Copyright 1995
Susie Whiting