Polish Christmas Poem
[Original written in Polish by Zbigniew Chalko, Translated by Danuta Romanowska]

O, little One, O Little One on the rough hay,

Wouldn't it be better for you to be in your Father's heavenly bedding?

Wouldn't it be better to be sitting on the front steps in heaven?

Truly, your beloved Father did not expel you.

There the angels play beautifully.
Here, are only human struggles.

The Kings, the Wise Men will leave,
And for you, only human tears and suffering will be left.

Look, Small One, the stars die out;
In darkness, the buried miners look for the way out.

Look, as the fire from the sparks burn the school,
And the children are inside.

If only Saint Joseph would read to you from the newspapers,
How many fears and despairs live in this world.

He would tell you how terrible burns
the necklace of bullets for the soldiers.

But if you are here--and the Father will praise you--
You will stop the hatchet with your little hand.

Here, even the fir tree
grows in the shape of a cross.

Above picture by Z. Walczak