Someone responded to this poem on another site, which brought it to the forefront, so I feel the Lord would have me reblog it on here today.
An Original Work / December 2, 2018
It’s Christmastime all over the world,
But what does that mean exactly?
Shopping and presents and idols galore?
Never yet satisfied. Always want more?
Busily, hurriedly, racing for time?
Gotta have this gift, and nothing to find?
Santa and reindeer now fly through the air,
Packing their presents, now done with a flair?
Children all googled-eyed, caught by it all,
Can’t wait till Santa brings presents for all?
Parties, and cookies baked, oh how so right?
Movies and popcorn, now turn on the lights?
Laughing and playing, and games do the trick,
While everyone awaits good ole Saint Nick?
Now, how is this s’pposed to be ‘bout our Lord?
How are we unified with Him, one accord?
He’s just a baby, still lies in a manger,
Has no real power to disperse all danger.
Funny, we don’t celebrate our birthdays that way.
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