Christmas poem 12/01

A Christmas Lament

An old, old story that has been oft retold.

Of a special time, of a night still and cold.

A new-born infant, and where does he lay

But out in a stable, in a manger of hay.

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Calm and serene the dear Mother lay there

Hearing the sounds in the cold, night air.

Of shepherds and wise men coming to see

This special new baby, this Savior to be.

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Each year at this time, we retell this story

How Angels were singing, in splendor and glory.

And like them our loud hosannas we raise

And fill our churches with music and praise.

But then immediately head back to the store

To buy and buy, to get more and more.

Until sometimes we really don’t know

Just how much we have, for it's all just for show.

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Perhaps it's just me, but I don't understand

The hustle and bustle that's all through our land.

Forget the baby, for that's long gone by

The important thing now is how much can we buy.

An old, old story that has been oft retold.

Of a special time, of a night still and cold.

But don't ask of us where does he lay

For we no longer know. We have lost the way.

By: Al Manning            

12/1/10