Joyce Johnson Poet Rhyme

The Miracle of His Birth

I wonder how he answered
When she began to scold
And fret about his supper that
Had long ago turned cold.
Do you think that she believed him
When all he had to say
Was, "I went to see a baby
Upon a bed of hay"?
"A child?" She'd cry in disbelief,
"You have three of your own.
Why would you seek another child
And leave us all alone?"
Did she smell his breath and doubt him
When he told about the star
And said that kings and wise-men
Had trailed it from afar?
That he would walk so many miles,
A simple child to meet,
When just this morning he'd complained
Of bunions on his feet
Was a wild explanation that
Her ears could not receive.

One of the miracles of Christmas is
That some would true believe,
And believers passed the story down,
The news that won't grow old
Of the child to whom the wise-men brought
Their incense, myrrh and gold,
And for whom the simple shepherd
Ignored his aching feet
And braved the wrath of angry wife,
The King of Kings to meet.

By Joyce Dec. 2006

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L'Nass Shango December 4, 2009 at 11:25 AM There is a patience in your write that makes the focus tremendously refined and coherently neat, each poem keeps unbroken logic with its rhythm, each poem turning keys in the reader head ... you know its love when I see so much.