Poem: Away in a Manger
Away in a Manger
The cattle are lowing,
the poor baby wakes,
but little Lord Jesus
no crying he makes.
And he never spits up,
poops, or even pees—
just sits there serenely
as we want him to be.
The cattle are lowing,
the poor baby wakes,
but little Lord Jesus
no crying he makes.
And he never spits up,
poops, or even pees—
just sits there serenely
as we want him to be.