Christmas poem by Rod McKuen 1974

He must have been the son of God.

What other man would take

            such chances?

None of any sanity,

and He had sanity to spare.

No magician He,

for all the miracles

He performed

were for the profit

of receivers only.

Can you imagine what

the doctor’s fee might be

for healing lameness

            with a smile

and blindness with a wink?

And those mercenary merchants

would have jailed a man –

far sooner than they did

the living, walking Christ –

for turning water into wine.

Or making one thin slice of bread

            manna for the many.

We’re told He never cried

within the confines

of that ill-kept stable

on that dark and silent night.

Even singing was left

            to the angels.

Who but the son of God

would miss the chance to sing

            amidst the angels?