Everything is upside down
The king isn’t wearing a crown
A donkey stands near where he lays
In a rough wooden trough filled with hay
His mother looks down into his eyes
And through a gentle tear breaks a smile
Though the future of his reign is secure
Her tears are shed for the pain he will endure
Holy, holy, infant child
Born this day in manger mild
Holy, holy, angels came
Peace on Earth would they proclaim
Copyright 12/27/2020 Donald Paul Harris