December 7, 2013
-
The Stranger, a poem by my mother Margaret Hill
There was a man at Christmas time who looked so out of place
as people rushed about him at a hurried sort of pace.
He stared at all the Christmas lights, the tinsel everywhere,
the shopping center Santa Claus with children gathered near.
The music from a stereo was playing loud and clear
of Santa Claus and snowmen, and a funny nosed reindeer.
He heard the people talk about the good times on the way;
of parties, fun and food galore, and gifts exchanged that day.
“I'd like to know what's going on,” the man was heard to say.
“There seems to be some sort of celebration on the way.
And would you tell me who this is, all dressed in red and white; and
why are children asking him about a special night?”
The answer came in disbelief, “I can't believe my ear! I can't
believe you do not know that Christmas time is here.
The time when Santa comes around with gifts for girls and boys,
when they're asleep on Christmas Eve he leaves them books and toys.”
“The man you see in red and white is Santa Clause so sly,
the children love his joyful laugh and twinkle in his eye.
“They learn to love this jolly man while they are still quite small;
when Christmas comes HE is the most important one of all!”
The stranger hung his head in shame, he looked at nail pierced hands,
his body shook in deepest grief, t'was not as he had planned.
A shadow crossed his stricken face, his voice was low but clear: “After
all these years they still don't know.” And Jesus shed a tear.
...
