they found him, in a basket wove
of freshly whittled pine
on the stair steps of the orphans home
one late december night..
amidst the blow, and cold, and snow,
under a crescent moon-
swaddled in a red fleece cloak,
eyes sparkling,, lips a coo..
they brought him in, they coddled him
they rocked him by the fire
never knowing into their midst
was ‘born’,, retails own christ child….
by paisley. To read this poem in its original posting and see the photo that accompanied it please click here
Thank you, Paisley, for taking part. I really appreciate the way you always support PWB.