A Gift for the King

He’s coming? Oh, dear!

Search the pantry–

a little bit of rice,

a few cans of beans,

all out of spice,

the fridge almost empty–

He cannot come here.

Still coming? Oh, dear!

Check that closet there–

a frumpy, grey dress,

a pair of old jeans,

hair all a mess,

no jewelry to wear–

He cannot come here.

Getting closer? Oh, dear!

Pull out that can,

and count up the cash–

twelve pennies, a quarter, a dime–

worthless as trash

for an ordinary man–

He cannot come here!

Almost here? Oh, dear!

Some words for Him, perhaps?

Inept phrases,

a silly rhyme,

meaningless phrases

of a language lapse–

He cannot come here!

Coming now? Oh, dear!

And I have nothing–

nothing worthy of His name.

For my Lord the King, nothing?

The shame! The shame–

Poverty’s worst sting.

He cannot come here.

Take courage, oh heart. Do not fear!

He owns the world and

every galaxy–

He does not want for anything.

He holds the seas,

treasures in His hand.

He wants to come here.

Look! He’s coming here.

Take your minutes, and

package them in kindness.

Wrap them in thanksgiving,

and tie them up with fondness.

Then outstretch your hand–

the only gift for One so dear.

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