All my life I've wanted to be,
A bell upon a Christmas tree.
But if I don't jingle very well,
How can I be a Christmas bell?
Some years ago, when I was young,
I thought I would be rung and rung,
What good's a bell that cannot ring,
A bell that has no ding-a-ling?
But... alas, alack... I'd fallen down,
And I laid a long time on the ground,
I could not ring at Christmas time,
Although that's how I was designed.
I laid alone in a silent state,
With tears, I did accept my fate.
With hope near gone, some children came,
And saw me lying there in pain.
One little fellow spotted me,
So thrilled with his discovery,
He picked me up; I felt reprieved,
I might yet ring on Christmas Eve.
My heart soared then, quite like a rocket,
Because he tucked me in his pocket,
But rocks and balls and bits of string,
Don't give a bell much room to ring.
So packed in there - so sad was I,
I almost felt that I might die.
But that same day, though later on,
He dumped his pockets for his Mom.
She picked me up and washed me well,
"My!" she said, "What a lovely bell!"
I rang and rang and jingled so,
Real Christmas bliss perhaps I'd know.
Once more I'd hang upon a tree,
For all to hear and all to see.
"Oh yes," I heard the lady say,
"This bell will ring on Christmas Day."
She hung me on their Christmas tree,
Where I rang out in ecstasy.
My ring so pure - my ring so sweet,
Like other bells at Jesus' feet!
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright 2001 ~ Revised 2007

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