The Sunday After Christmas

It's the Sunday after Christmas and
the little town is still;
no awareness of the wonder
that happened Christmas Day.

They don't know that the Child was born,
but sometime soon they will.
The stable sounds are only that
of cattle mmunching hay.

The little family occupying
the old bossy's bed
is sleeping in, no sleep had they
the night the Child was born.

Please let them rest, they soon must wake;
this new Child must be fed.
They do not know that danger lurks,
this after Christmas morn.

Too soon the messenger will come
to warn them on their way,
to hide from cruel Herod who
would hurt their beloved Son.

Reluctantly they give up
their nice warm bed of hay.
The cattle in amazement watch
as Child and parents run.

The beasts all wonder at the dark
that drapes the little shed
after the sweet, haloed Child
is carried on His way.

As the kind and weary cow
lays down her heavy head
in the manger she had lent to Him
on this first Christmas Day,

she feels a gentle peace and love
as Angels bless her from above.

By: Joyce 12/26/04