‘Twas the night before Christmas at Stillmeadow Farm,

And the goats were assembled in front of the barn,

They knelt in the straw, their vigil to keep,

As night settled in, silent and deep.

The chickens were quiet, the dogs didn’t bark,

As the animals waited there in the dark.

A cold winter moon sent forth a soft glow,

To guide all the creatures waiting below.

An owl hooted twice, then folded its wings,

To sit on a branch and think about things.

The sky overhead was a wondrous sight,

As stars found their place and turned up the light.

A deer wandered by with babies in tow,

And looked at the goats like she wanted to know.

Why is it quiet? Is there danger near?

Why are you sitting so patiently here?

The goats bleated back — a newcomer there,

“It’s Christmas,” they said in the still frosty air.

The deer was perplexed; so the goats did explain,

The Christmas tradition that all  goats maintain.

Away from the lights, the parties, the mall,

Goats wait for Christmas next to a stall.

For eons of time this vigil they’ve kept,

Waiting for Christmas where Jesus slept.

So the deer and her babies paused at the gate,

Then they knelt in the grass, also to wait.

The moonlight grew brighter, the owl hooted low,

As he told all the others what he’d come to know.

The world looks for Christmas in all the wrong places,

Who’d think of a stable, the lowest of spaces?

Yet on Christmas Eve the message is clear,

Peace, love and hope can still be found here.

These blessings await for all who are able,

To spend Christmas Eve with goats in a stable.

Marge Swayne is the lifestyles editor for The Herald. Her email address is marge.swayne@farmvilleherald.com.