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Christmas Poems

First Light by Stephen Leake

Away from the house, the star is reluctant.
Pushed from its window of sky.
It stalls at the morning’s shelf, letting
Fabled light open history. Again.

Tardily, it drops its gifts.
-Modest opulence brimming with season-
Its warmth, a glass spirit held in the hand.

And, as the day is made special with prayer
It will fall. Fall back to its dream. There
It will sing. Unwrapping the day
With its presence.

The Oxen by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel,

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so’

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