When the expectation of snow,
Hangs in the air and God
Prepares to lay a blanket
Across the fallow winter Earth,
We hang our earnest stockings
By the fire and trim once more,
Our tiny Christmas tree.
That sits atop the bookshelf,
Beside a ceramic lighted church
A porcelain stable and a manger
In our tiny home there's only room.
For a tiny Christmas tree, small
But as big as it needs to be for us.
In Bethlehem there was no room for Him.
Only a tiny manger, small but still He came to it,
To us that night; but an infant and yet,
Bigger than all the world could hold and with Him,
Christmases as big as we'd ever need them to be.
©2021 by Tom King
