Once in the winter's frost, there was a little Rat.
In the brick monastery the little Rat dwelled.
Through the walls he skittered with a rat-a-tat-tat.
And through the chapel where monks-a-many sat.
In in his hands, the little rat often held
A little wood bead, from a monk's old rosary.
He would hold it close when one would have beheld
The sight of the little rat that would make them yell.
Through chapels decorated gloriously
He saw a wooden figure, beneath the stained glass
Only seen by candlelight, he looked curiously
And saw a little wood babe shown victoriously
With the babe he saw three other, with gifts of brass
Giving gifts to the babe who lay in the stable
Alongside him were cows, sheep, and ass
And even two icons seen in the mass!
The little Rat would not be able
To contain the joy he saw in the stall
"Oh my oh my! This can't be a fable!
This precious scene underneath this table!"
Yet to the side was a man wrapped in pall
A gruesome sight, so painful to see
Images of death, cover the walls
Where priests often stood, giving their call
Backing away into the wooden sea
The little Rat looked to the leaded light
And saw the same man hung on a tree
Yet underneath was the babe that filled him with glee
"Oh my, oh my! Look at this sight!
Is the sweet little babe the man on the wood?
On colored glass where shines light,
Oh my oh my this must be sacred rite!"
And finally the little Rat understood
And took his precious bead
And placed it where the little babe stood
Giving his gift, as we all should.