Monday, December 19, 2016


(A view of the earthly landscape from our Yule Window is cluttered with visions of snarky elementary school administrators tearing down posters of Sparky Schulz'  Peanuts spokesman  Linus with his scrawny, skeletonic Christmas tree PLUS college deans suspending flash choirs for singing White Christmas,, a  seasonal ditty composed by a Jew who  Loved the season the way  Ben Stein loves it today. Our rebuttal to these Luddite Philistines will be respectful and proper. See Below.)

Sonnet to Jesus on His Birthday

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

For this your mother sweated in the cold,
For this you bled upon the bitter tree:
A yard of tinsel ribbon bought and sold;
A paper wreath;
 a day at home for me.

The merry bells ring out, the people kneel;
Up goes the man of God before the crowd;
With voice of honey and with eyes of steel
He drones your humble gospel to the proud.

Nobody listens. Less than the wind that blows
Are all your words to us you died to save.
O Prince of Peace! O Sharon's dewy Rose!
How mute you lie within your vaulted grave.

The stone the angel rolled away with tears
Is back upon your mouth these thousand years.