Post Series: The Christmas Series: Poem: O’ hear the call

O’ hear the call of these bold words,
that fly from here like flocks of birds,
this Christmas time is not for rush,
or weight of gifts that seem to crush,
or things to do that press like herds.

Like from the whey one strains the curds,
remove from now the rope that girds,
and tell the list of tasks to hush,
O’ hear the call of these bold words.

Like numbers that some do call surds,
irrationality of words,
does try to make this time like mush,
and hide the truth as if with blush,
that One was born near to some herds,
O’ hear the call of these bold words.

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