It’s the day before Christmas. And as I do from time to time, I find myself wondering at the Gift we received and the Love that offered itself to us, although we know we don’t deserve it. In that spirit, here’s a poem from Edwin Arlington Robinson, for those of us who feel the need for a little wormwood in our egg nog.
Christmas was in the air and all was well
With him, but for a few confusing flaws
In divers of God’s images. Because
A friend of his would neither buy nor sell,
Was he to answer for the axe that fell?
He pondered; and the reason for it was,
Partly, a slowly freezing Santa Claus
Upon the corner, with his beard and bell.
Acknowledging an improvident surprise,
He magnified a fancy that he wished
The friend whom he had wrecked were here again.
Not sure of that, he found a compromise;
And from the fulness of his heart he fished
A dime for Jesus who had died for men.
But fear not. The Christ Child arrives soon, and there will be a happier poem tomorrow.
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