This guest post is by Andrew Apsley.
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A Visit from St. Alban
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all Christendom
Sat hoping and waiting for Santa to come.
The cocoa and cookies lay spread on the table
While music rang out and told old Christmas fables.
Our daughter lay down in snug new pajamas,
The heiress of strong economics (thanks, Obama).
And Ma on her iPhone, and I on my Droid,
Were browsing our Facebooks and online tabloids—
When on our front door there came a soft knock;
I looked at my wife and then questioned the clock.
It seemed a bit late, but I went just the same.
I opened the door to witness who came.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Shown dimly between the four figures below.
Their breath fogged the air as they huddled together;
Their dark skin wrapped loosely with clothes all in tatters.
With a little old father, his eyes weak and tired,
A mother and two kids, who were almost expired.
As weak as could be, he raised a bare hand
And whispered a plea though he barely could stand.
“We come from Aleppo—my family and I.
We come bearing nothing but the rags that you spy.
Through the top of our roof; o’er the top of our walls,
The bombs they have dashed away—dashed away all.”
’Twas then I beheld, at the base of his feet,
A pool of fresh blood gath’ring on the concrete.
My daughter, who peered through my legs to behold,
Ran off to find blankets to keep out their cold.
I turned and I called to… [Read more…] about A Visit from St. Alban, or A Refugee Christmas