Christmas Eve, The little family of four, Though very poor, Did not grieveThat their supper on that holy nightWas to be no more Than a bowl of broth.They did not bemoan their pitiful plight, By growing so wrothAs to blame God for negligent oversight.In fact, in faith, they were as gratefulFor that sparse fare as for a plateful Of yuletide turkey and dressing.Then came a new blessingThat was not on the docket, When father found a lone coin in his pocket.Just enough for a loaf of bread "Son, run to the baker's," his mother said.Before it closes." And off the lad sped.What cropped up next and next and next'long the homeward route he tookYou might never expect...Just wait till you read this little book
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