| A Christmas Lesson From A Misfit Toy
I, alas, am a misfit toy,
Cast to the workshop floor.
Not for me, a girl or boy,
My quality’s too poor.
No elf would claim he made me,
There’s too much shame in that.
Rudolph even MAIMED me . . .
He ate my little hat.
I’m uglier than sin itself:
I’m limp and much too tall.
If they find me, they’ll hide me on the top shelf.
I’m an ugly, ugly doll.
A dust bunny is my only friend.
Real ones are hard to find . . . .
What’s this? A hand? Is this the end?!
Not what I had in mind!
I’m being smuggled in a vest.
What’s happening to me?
Is the gesture just a jest?
. . . . . I’m underneath a tree.
Night rolls by like a molasses train.
Christmas Eve slips by without cares.
I try to hide but all in vain
As footsteps come down the stairs.
It’s a little elf-girl of six years old,
But crippled like seventy-two.
Her misshapen features are frighteningly bold
But her smile, at least, is true.
With disbelief, she says, “A toy!”
She holds me tight with glee.
“Oh, Papa,” she cries with unbridled joy,
“God made him just like me.”
And now it has occurred to me:
I’m really not that bad.
Inside you find the real beauty.
Now, really, aren’t you glad?
So, forget the tree, forget the lights.
For Santa don’t you shout.
This love, this joy, this silent night
Is what Christmas is all about. |