The Creche Painter

The Creche Painter I am a pine, 4 feet tall; My needles formed in green plastic; Tiny lights and tiny gifts adorn me; While I shade miniature figures of glass. Glass – hand painted lovingly By poor, worn fingers, with eyes squintly smiling; The painter glowing, knowing Her savior was born a babe,’ But one day touched her heart And found Himself a home. She hums a hymn as she prays to Him That she will do justice to his face; His glass blanket of soft blue Will warm his dear body where he lay. And she pats her brush to fluff white sheep Baaing after their tan clad Shepherd; then Adding colors bright to night traveling wise men, She lastly gilts the halos of Mary and Joseph. A glow now encompasses her table She is one, serene in her work; Her heart ever lives and paints in his stable.