Merry Christmas

The Legend of the Poinsetta

The pine was mortal,once, like other trees

That lift their boughs in the air,

Wearing in summer it's green fripperies,

In winter going bare.

And desolate of birds,

But that was in an old, forgotten age,

Before the words of Wise Men strung King Herod to such a rage,

That his loud armies went

About the land to slay the Innocent.

Then there was consternation and no joy,

In Isreal, Joseph & Mary,fleeing,

Into another country with the Boy

Came when the day was dying,

Houseless to the edge of a green wood

Where valorously stood

A needled pine that every summer gave

Small birds a nest,

And half it's trunk was hollow as a cave

Said Joseph,"This is refuge..Let us rest."

The pine tree, full of pity, dropped it's vast

Protective branches down,

To cover them until the troops rode past.

Their weapons jingling, toward a different town.

All night it hid them, When morning broke,

The Child awoke

And Blessed the pine,His steadfast lodging place,

"Let you and your brave race,

Who made yourself My rampant and My screen,

Keep summer always and be ever green.

For you the punctual seasons shall not vary,

But let there throng

A thousand birds to you for sanctuary

All winter long."

The story tell us, too,

That if you cut a pine cone part way through,

You find it bears within it like a brand,

The imprint of His hand.