TITLE: Christmas Cowboy
By Janice Cartwright
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He turns his face into the night,
His back upon the town and light,
Embraces cold reality
Of night and snow and wind-downed tree.
The town, back there, it seems to me,
Inviting though it may appear,
Shall not with all its warmth and gleam
Avail to tempt this Man to deem
'Tis better than His mission bold.
That thing that makes Him brave the cold,
And brave the night, shall drive Him forth:
A mission dear to Him, its worth
The night and cold; though power to daunt
They hold, and 'neath Him steed is gaunt.
But tilt of head and cast of mien
Addresses more than wind's refrain.
For underneath His arm grasped tight
Are gifts wrapped up in paper bright,
And though the wind may howl and moan,
The Man - He does not go alone.
With Him go Love, and Truth, and Hope
To all who wait in rustic scope
Away from towns, away from light,
Away from human comforts' might
To lure them from the gifts He brings.
It is this thought to which He clings:
That each may know and each receive
The gift of Life, reprieve from death.
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