The Wise Woman

T'was long ago when she was young…
That the hollow trees filled with snow,
Red socks of wool were merrily hung,
And the halls with mistletoe.

T'was a time such as this that
The Smitty's daughter sat in quiet awe,
And watched a figure in a pulled down hat
Come trudging up the draw.

Then a knock… knock… knock…was heard,
And her breathing came swift in her chest,
An opened door, but not a single word,
Brought a woman in a patchwork dress…

The strange little woman held a golden case,
'Tis from a far off land …" she said,
And she placed it above the old fireplace,
On the mantle, high overhead.

Its lid was painted in an ancient script
Each marking etched fine and bold,
The case was heavy, but she decided to lift
The box for the girl to hold…

The young girl peeked inside the lid
And exclaimed in disbelief…
"Oh my… oh my…" and down she slid
To fall in her chair and weep.

She'd never seen such a beautiful thing
Or beheld such a sacred treasure
For inside there lay a sweet baby King,
In a Nativity of gold, beyond measure…

A simple smile touched the woman's face
As she watched the innocent child,
For nothing in all the world can replace
Such sweetness, undefiled.

Then the woman gazed to a far off mile
And seemed lost in such deep thought,
But when she spoke, after a little while
It was wisdom that was wrought…

" Tis a wondrous thing, to have such love
That you would do such a beautiful labor,
Tis the kind of work that is spoken of
By all men and all they favor…

This golden scene of our Lord and King,
As a babe coddled in the hay,
Brings our heart such joy, that we want to sing
On this shining Christmas Day!

But I would be amiss if I did not insist
An understanding of what you hold,
For the Lord desires in our hearts a fire
More than an effigy cast in gold…

The baby there, in a manger's straw
Is our Light in a darkened land,
The angels sing and rejoice in awe…
God's own Son, in the heart of a man!

Though scores of seasons have passed on by
The message remains the same,
Our Savior and Lord left his throne on high…
And for each one of us, He came…"

Then a strange foggy mist seemed to blur her sight
And the girl gave a sleepy yawn,
Now no one was there, had she seen things right?
Where had the strange, little woman gone?

She began to think it had been a dream
But she rubbed disbelieving eyes,
On the mantle high stood the manger scene…
Brought from a strange little sage, so wise!

By Sharon Frye