She didn’t have a speaking part
Because the words were tricky.
(Though was glad she wasn’t Mary
Because Joseph’s hands were sticky.)
She’d hoped to be an angel
Because angels point their toes.
But they’d offered her a shepherd
And she didn’t like the clothes.
Now all the parts were given out
And she was just ‘the crowd.’
As she faced the sea of mums and dads,
Her little head was bowed.
Until she saw, right up the back,
Her mummy’s loving glance.
That found her and stayed fixed on her
Through every song and dance.
Whilst one king whacked the others,
With his golden box of myrrh.
Her mummy never peeped at them;
Those eyes stayed fixed on her.
And even though poor Jesus fell,
When the manger somehow tipped.
And Gabriel danced a solo
That wasn’t in the script.
Her mummy just looked straight at her
Like no one else was there.
It made her feel so wonderful
And she no longer cared.
That she didn’t have a ‘proper’ part
Which everybody ‘ahhed.’
Because, looking through her mummy’s eyes,
She would always be the star.
Emma Robinson 2015