It was Christmas, and from many lands far away
The family convened to mark Christmas Day.
A year or more since the last time we had been
a family together, united as kin.
“Where is Sister?” asked Brother upon his arrival.
“She is busy at church; it’s her organ recital.
Each Christmas she plays for the holiday service.”
“Will we see her at all?” asked the Brother, quite nervous.
“Perhaps,” said his Mother, “but then, perhaps not,
for the organist bears a particular lot:
the children all singing must learn not to fidget –
tis the organist’s job to steady their digits!
the choir must wow during each carol singing;
tis the organist’s task to keep spirits ringing!
Add that to her day job stuck down at the mall –
It’s a miracle if we can see her at all.”
So we called her at work and we called her at church,
but her schedule left most of us stuck in the lurch;
we Facebooked and Twittered and tried her GMail –
But piles of carols walled her world like a jail.
‘Neath many a copy of old “Silent Night”
the organist toils by frail candle light;
her fingers, curled up as if by arthritis,
from practicing too much “What Child is This?”
When finally we raised her between pageant trials,
All she offered her family were frequent denials
of having no time for her kin this year –
“Let’s go out for dinner,” she said, “Never fear!”
But then when the phone rang as supper was nearing,
‘Twas the call from the Sister we all had been fearing:
In a statement that signaled a total reversal,
“I can’t go; I must schedule another rehearsal!”
The family then piled in the old minivan
And we rushed to the church (every stop light we ran!).
We burst through the doors of the church in a fury;
all the choir and the children looked on, filled with worry.
Sister, she calmed them, as organists do,
then turned to her family and tried to subdue.
“I promise, one practice, then dinner we’ll savor;
I ask of you just this, a small Christmas favor.”
The family then bristled and buzzed with commotion,
Each person still filled with a flood of emotion.
“Come now!” shouted Mother. “Yes, now!” shouted Father.
Brother thought he would add something, but then didn’t bother.
Sister blushed, clearly worried her response would bore us:
“I can’t; I must master the Hallelujah Chorus!”
So family left church for our fine Christmas homestead,
Our dreams filled with sugarplums, tucked in our warm beds,
While sister stayed late at the church with her choir.
They practiced until they came down to the wire;
The Christmas Eve service went off with no hitch
(Loved even by Ms. McGee, that nasty old . . .)
which meant Sister could finally pack up all her things,
discard her copies of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”,
and go home for Christmas, away from her duty,
in the hopes of scoring some sweet Christmas booty.
Alas, as she readied, she found she was pinned
To the organ, which by stacks of sheet music, rimmed,
had been walled like a cell by the choir, for fear
that she might have tried leaving before the premier
of the Christmas-time pageant, the Christmas-time cheer;
then the choir had left and forgotten to free her!
Surrounded by music, hemmed in by the carols,
The organist wailed at the cause of her peril,
She cried and she cried, no cause to be merry,
Trapped like a rat in the dark sanctuary,
When, suddenly, light o’er the the sheet music poured,
As if someone had opened the big chapel doors.
She heard the sweet voices of her own happy kin
and the smells of a Christmas goose wafting in;
With hammers and axes they broke down the wall!
A happy Christmas was then had by all –
Father and Mother and Brother . . . and Sister –
everybody said just how much they had missed her.
She was freed from the bond to direct Christmas cheer –
at least, that is, ’til this time next year.
