The Donkey's Tale (Poetry)

It was a long, long trek — the pathway rough with stones.
We travelled on through nights so bright and cold
the three of us exhausted — aching to our bones
the starlight brilliant — dazzling to behold.

I carried her upon my back, he walked beside.
She sat gentle, but weighed heavy with child
I sensed how weary of the endless, jolting ride
yet her voice was soft, her manner always mild.

And he, good soul, was such a patient man and kind
who led me with low tones — not some cruel stick
like others less humane and narrower of mind
with their curses, and keen to beat or kick.

How many miles it was before we came in sight
of Bethlehem, a lowly beast can’t guess.
The thought of food and somewhere warm to spend the night
spurred me on — I was fuelled by eagerness.

They showed us to a stable — dry and smelling sweet.
I fed alongside oxen — had my fill
for I imagined my small role was now complete.
Night held its breath — the air hung sharp and still.

And she, denied a room, now bedded down in hay.
We heard her moaning as her time drew near.
One star above shone in ’til it was bright as day
and voices sang for the whole world to hear.

Thus it came about her child was born — the promised one
and we dumb beasts were witness to the show
with a host of angels proclaiming him God’s son —
the baby in the manger all aglow.

The shepherds knelt in awe, with lambs to offer him
and wise men from the East brought gifts more rare.
It was a solemn yet a joyous gathering
of rich and poor — all grateful to be there.

Then history tells that Heaven’s celebration
spread round the earth as holy fire caught light
and inspired the living soul of every nation
to kindle faith each year on Christmas night.

And so now my tale is done — a simple story
of how a king was born without a crown
and to low estate but heralded in glory
when, out of darkness, stars came raining down.