May you be experiencing the blessing of family and loved ones in this special time and season as we celebrate the birth of Christ our Savior.
This is an older poem that has been posted before… but it’s a Christmas Story. I am taking a little time away from the computer to be with family, celebrating life.
By David De Jong
The young stallion, born on a cold winter’s night,
No shelter, no warmth, except for mother in sight.
Clear was the sky, as the stars gleamed in a dance,
The heavens knew the awaited birth, was not by chance.
King of the wolves, told of the birth, feared his reign,
Sending his evil army; to search and kill all in vain.
Mother and colt sleeked through the forest, following a glow,
All scents and signs covered, in a sudden Christmas snow.
An old cowhand, looking for strays, camped for the night,
His herd gathered, his sorrel hobbled in sight.
Coffee on the fire to warm an old man’s heart,
When mother and colt approached, it gave him a start.
A dry blanket over the newborn colt, warmed him fair,
Last of the sorrel’s grain, strengthened the tired mare.
First light they parted, sure no one would believe, even if told;
The mare, her foal, sharing his fire, nothing close ever to behold.
A night remembered each Christmas, especially when it snowed,
There was no debt, it was a gift, Christmas love bestowed.
Years later, searching strays, on that snowy range,
The air was different, there was a welcome change.
It was spring, wild lilies abloom, new life abound,
The old cowpoke moved slow, yet missed their sound.
That pack of wolves; still mad for death, demanding fresh blood,
Teeth lashing, evil blocking the trail, six abreast they stood.
He whispered a prayer, fearing for his life and his mount’s as well,
These demons of night surely would drag them both straight to hell.
Soft in the shadows, a familiar form he saw appear,
It was that stallion; all grown – broad – magnificent – up on rear.
He took on the pack and bid the sorrel take flight,
“Take your rider, and flee – with all your might!”
The furred demons; stripped the stallion his valor and brought him to the ground,
Killing with laughter and glee, their unwarranted Christmas prince finally found.
The old cowhand; holding fast to his steed, galloping new strides of flight,
It was a ride like no other, his mount ignoring his commands, try as he might.
As the sun rose on the third morn, past that horrid attack,
The old cowboy placed the last of his camp in his pack;
The bull elk bugled – as thunder arose!
The trees trembled – and shook off the crows!
Across the meadow – galloping – in a glow!
The stallion – back from death – his scars to show.
Sunbeams followed as he approached the old cowboy still at camp,
A vision of glory; mesmerizing, his coat and mane – glowed, as a lamp.
Then the cowhand saw something he had missed before,
That white stallion had a mark that the old cowboy wore.
The mark, that blaze on the stallion’s face, looked to be a star, tall,
On second look, it was the cross, the cross He bore for us all.
So at Christmas, when you think of the babe, and remember the star,
Think on the cross, what it truly means, for all mankind, near and far;
Life – given in grace
Life – spared in mercy
Life – Forever — no matter where you are.