Howdy, everyone, Bree Pembrook’s the name, writing’s the high-difficulty-level game. I’m the author of Ichabod Fly and the Great Newspaper Roundup and the author of this pitiful poem. Notice that I didn’t call myself a poet. I ain’t a poet. Enjoy!
🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄
On Christmas day our Lord and Savior,
Was born and laid in a lowly manger,
Born to heal a world of danger.
Dark made light, no more night, God is setting all to right.
This sleeping child, Prince of Peace,
Here to put troubled minds at ease,
Sent by the Father who heard our pleas.
Peace from the fight, love from spite, God is setting all to right.
This helpless babe would leave his home,
From town to town he long would roam,
Giving himself, the True Shalom.
Weak have might, blind have sight, God is setting all to right.
He spent his days causing blind to see,
Healing prisoners, the demons flee,
Condemned to die upon a tree.
Felt pain’s bite, made hearts white, God is setting all to right.
Before the end “forgive them” he said,
Then light was gone, the thorns on his head
Removed as they took him to rest with the dead.
Mourning night, at its height, God is setting all to right.
Three days after, the stone was gone,
Light emitted, as bright as dawn,
Jesus rose, His mercy goes on!
Peace tonight, lives rewrite, God has set it all to right.
Lulu’s Library 