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.
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