From an old lady

November 29, 2017
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In a wooden box you sit
This image just does not fit
You are my savior, pure grace
And then I look upon your sweet face
No one knows what you will become
Your time just started, Your work begun
Do you know your wooden box will be turned into a cross
But the feel of Your presence will never be lost
Every year we celebrate Your birth
Families gather with mirth
But not I, I shall stay in the streets
While this continuous loop repeats and repeats
You were born to walk among us as man
Your purpose was to make us understand
The love you possess for your creation
Calls for this winter celebration
But here we are at Your mortal start
Both in the cold, but the thought of You warms my heart
Though I am aged and you are new
The physical differences between us are few
Because I am in rags just like you






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