the babe was born.
i suppose he cried
and there never was a Christmas
until this day.
his parents felt the joy
that all parents feel,
at the snuggle of his head
into their chests.
then the singing began
from the black, starry night.
caused by the joy
of the birth of
this babe
and the baby grew.
he was one year old.
a first uttered prayer
schooled by his parents
like you and me.
he was taught not to touch some things,
to be careful, and kind.
hold a hand when you walk in the market,
pet the animals softly.
and every Christmas, he grew
wiser and wiser,
and the heavens
continued to sing.
then the boy that skinned his knees,
became the man that
healed our hearts
and saved mankind
and the angels broke forth
in a joyful chorus
as he came back to the
starry heavens.
i can hear them singing now
waiting for the day,
the day that he was born.
i ponder his birth
then tears unwillingly
cleanse my face,
my heart burns bright and fierce
for i know the truth of this Christmas
He lives,
He loves me,
He knows me by name.
tender brother,
tiny babe,
Jesus Christ;
the Savior of my soul.
