Christmas Eve

It's the night before Christmas and the moon is shinnin' bright. Stars are lightin' up the heavens on this cold Montana night. The rugged mountains tower high capped white with snow. Frost is settlin' heavy on the peaceful valley below. Smoke from woodstoves blanket the little cowboy town. The glow from oil lamps placed in windows can be seen for miles around. The road to the ranch house is frozen hard and slick like slate. The rusty old hinges let out a moan as the wind blows the corral gate. The horses are fed and tonight they're not puttin' up a fuss. For even they seem to know 'bout this gift the creator has given us. The little farmhouse is filled with the smell of fresh baked bread. And the family is gathered 'round the fire as the Christmas story is read. Tonight all the troubles from the year 'jist seem to be put away. For now our thoughts are towards the Christ child and the manger where he lay. The conversation among the family is joyful not a cross word is said. And no one seems to be in a hurry to be rushin' off to bed. When the last of the hot cocoa is finished and the family finally turns in, we ask ourselves if there was a knock at our door would there be room at the inn? (-written by cowboy poet Tic Palmer of Stevensville, Montana, U.S.A.)