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