He bends down on his knees beside the throne,

Crimson jewels twinkling on the polished gold arm rests.

Bread and coins rest in a cloth in his arms,

He carries them as if a feather that could turn to dust.

His entire frame quivers slightly,

As if his boney body will give way,

As if only tape bound his limbs together.

“This is for the king,

A merry Christmas to him.”

The man muttered in a raspy voice,

Clearly not meaning a word of what he said.

He placed it beside the man in the throne,

Adding to mountain of items that the villagers placed there.

Many women and children and men stood behind,

Carrying fruit and coins of gold and silver.

All of the people had weak, boney forms,

Looking a bit frightened, worried.

What if he didn’t approve of what they gave?

It wasn’t healthy to think of what would happen.

Cloth draped over their shoulders and around their hips.

Angry winds rushed around the town,

Leaving a flurry of snow in their wake.

The small houses swayed uneasily in the wind,

The wood cracking and decaying.

What a Christmas.