(I always loved John Updike; here is a delightful Christmas poem he wrote)
A Sound Heard Early on the Morning of Christ’s Nativity
By John Updike
Issue no. 155 (Summer 2000) from a special edition of the Paris Review Redux

The thump of the newspaper on the porch
on Christmas Day, in the dark before dawn
yet after Santa Claus has left his gifts:
the real world reawakens; some poor devil,
ill-paid to tear himself from bed and face
the starless cold, the godforsaken gloom,
and start his car, and at the depot pack
his bundle in the seat beside his own
and launch himself upon his route, the news
affording itself no holiday, not even
this anniversary of Jesus’ birth
when angels, shepherds, oxen, Mary, all
surrendered sleep to the divine design,
has brought to us glad tidings, and we stir.

Becky Avatar

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