Christmas Poem

It was Christmas night—one could see the snow

falling outside from the window in our den

where a fire was burning on the hearth.

I was enjoying the company of friends,

when, thinking all my guests had arrived,

I was surprised to hear a knocking on my front door. 

I went to see and, standing there upon the step 

was an old man with a long gray beard and kindly face—

his eyes were round and black as tree ornaments

and he was dressed poorly, in a long, ragged coat,

but did not seem the least bit cold.

When I opened the door, his face lit up in a smile

that was bright as the morning star.

“Merry Christmas!” he said in a rumbling, kindly voice

that was as clear and bold as the sound of Gabriel’s horn.

“Merry Christmas,” I said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Shyly, like a bashful child, he shook his head.

“Actually, I have something for you,” he said, 

and he held out his hand, and in it I saw:

an ancient looking penny. 

“Take it,” he said.

I picked the penny up. 

“Look at the date.” 

I read: “1925.” 

“That’s the year,” said the man,

“that my father was born. It’s been my lucky penny all these years. 

I’m giving it to you.”

“But why?” I asked, completely amazed. 

“Have I done anything to deserve it?”

The man smiled. “You’re surrounded by people this Christmas night.

Because of my own foolishness, I am alone. 

I have been relying on luck for far too long.

Now I must learn to be a good man on my own.

I will start by giving you my penny, 

in the hopes that it will serve you better than it has me.”

I thanked the man and he went on his way.

I keep the penny on the mantle above the fireplace—

to remind me of my great luck—to this day.