Thoughts While Writing Out Christmas Cards

Into the mail box
the cards are delivered,
angels, a manger, the star and a lamb
as the rural carrier makes her rounds

listening to the plaintive sounds
the bleats of sheep
the clopping of camels
the shuffle of sandals

coming from the sack of mail
as yet undelivered;
driving her route
stopping at each little tin box

placing deep into the darkness
the donkeys, the sheep,
the wise men, the shepherds
the star

while perched on the dash
a plastic cup o’ Starbucks
emanating a hint of hazelnut
and just a touch of myrrh.

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