T'was the night before...
Dec. 11th, 2012 10:46 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuJust a bit of off beat poetry, related to my "Bowery Mission stories", where Illya goes to help his friend Claire in the soup kitchen.
......
T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house one creature was stirring, and it wasn’t a mouse.
A blond headed Russian walked out his front door, loaded with a sackful of presents galore.
He hailed a cab....”227 Bowery,” he said, as the yellow checkered taxi became his own sled.
Illya walked through the bright red Mission door, dropped and scattered his bag across the floor.
It was brimming with toys and new winter coats, gloves, and sweaters, what people needed the most.
His friend Claire smiled warmly as he donned his apron tight, to dole out the food, to feed the hungry that night.
When the day was done, and they’d washed, cleaned, and sat for a rest. Claire looked at Illya thinking, he was the best.
“If I were thirty years younger, “she always would say, and the Russian would blush, shyness would fade.
“Thank you my friend,” he’d say with a kiss. “To help you along is my only wish.”
And he’d leave through the kitchen and make such a clatter, Claire’d come out to see what was the matter.
He’d laugh at his clumsiness, and clean up again, and waved good bye to his charming dear friend.
The lights of the city seemed brighter that night, a once cold young Russian was filled with delight.
He stood at the steps of his apartment and then, turned whispering to the sky, saying...
“Peace and goodwill to all men”
......
T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house one creature was stirring, and it wasn’t a mouse.
A blond headed Russian walked out his front door, loaded with a sackful of presents galore.
He hailed a cab....”227 Bowery,” he said, as the yellow checkered taxi became his own sled.
Illya walked through the bright red Mission door, dropped and scattered his bag across the floor.
It was brimming with toys and new winter coats, gloves, and sweaters, what people needed the most.
His friend Claire smiled warmly as he donned his apron tight, to dole out the food, to feed the hungry that night.
When the day was done, and they’d washed, cleaned, and sat for a rest. Claire looked at Illya thinking, he was the best.
“If I were thirty years younger, “she always would say, and the Russian would blush, shyness would fade.
“Thank you my friend,” he’d say with a kiss. “To help you along is my only wish.”
And he’d leave through the kitchen and make such a clatter, Claire’d come out to see what was the matter.
He’d laugh at his clumsiness, and clean up again, and waved good bye to his charming dear friend.
The lights of the city seemed brighter that night, a once cold young Russian was filled with delight.
He stood at the steps of his apartment and then, turned whispering to the sky, saying...
“Peace and goodwill to all men”
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