The Christmas Visitor

I decided to offer a poem for Christmas, to focus anyone who somehow ends up on this page!

‘Twas a standard street in a standard town,
Somewhere south of the Bombay Hills.
But at Christmas this street was widely renown
For its decorations, its baubles and frills.

The neighbours competed for best in the street:
Their rivalry had quite a nasty bite.
But on Christmas Day they’d all gather to eat
At the pohutukawa – “down the end, on the right”.

On this particular Christmas Day
There were two of us strangers, there by the tree.
One was a drifter – you could tell by the way
He dressed and he spoke – and the other was me.

Well, this drifter seemed to know everyone’s name,
Much to the surprise of everyone there.
He chatted and nibbled until he became
An embarrassing presence, for that time of year.

They ignored me, too, so I sat on my own,
Till the drifter came over and chattered to me.
It was okay with me – I was so far from home
That anyone friendly was good company.

As he talked I noticed a gleam in his eyes;
Something mysterious, quite profound.
And from one such as he it was quite a surprise
To discover such love in this cynical town.

He spoke of the joy of this time of the year,
And how he just loved this sharing with friends.
Then he touched my arm like a breath of fresh air,
And got up to talk to others again.

I watched as he tried to engage one by one
The revellers there at that gay barbecue.
But none would turn from their fun in the sun,
So he just stood and smiled, at the back of the queue.

For a short time I watched as he stood there, ignored,
Till eventually he left, and drifted away.
And I thought, with sadness, it was as if the Lord
Had dropped by to bless, on this special day.

And I fancied – though, sure, it’s hard to believe –
That Jesus had joined us, right here in this street,
But no one had noticed, and he’d had to leave.
And we’d all missed out on a real Christmas treat.

Ken Francis