The little burro stood aside and apart 
From the Master's herd that day. 
It had been as such forever and Little Joe knew, 
It would always be this way. 

For he shared his home and haven 
With a spirited, fancy lot, 
But, when Little Joe gazed upon their glory, he said, 
Of such beauty, I am surely not. 

The horses arched proud and fine heads, 
Tossed silken, snow-white manes, 
Then paraded 'round the pasture, 
While townsfolk watched from a country lane. 

See how splendidly they move, they cheered! 
How majestic and swift they are! 
And all their lovely coats do glisten, 
Just like the Bethlehem Star! 

But, pity, it is when sorrows abound, 
For beneath all this glory there lie, 
Cruel hearts made of ice, cold as stone, 
And a wish to make Little Joe cry. 

Look at those funny, big ears, said Silver Prince, 
In a way most unkind and haughty! 
And your coat is dull-brown and quite fuzzy. 
Grey Ghost was being real naughty! 

White Lightning pawed the earth and flashed his teeth, 
Stood statuesque, most grand and tall. 
You'll never be of any use, 
Because your are so very small. 

And throughout the long and cold, dark nights, 
When the winter winds would blow, 
The horses snuggled in a cozy stable, 
And left Little Joe shivering in the snow. 

Then with tears in his soft eyes, Little Joe spoke: 

I've great pain in my heart and soul, 
But, I mustn't let them know I've cried, 
I'll just run, this day, to a distant land, 
And they'll not find where I shall hide. 

The Master stroked Joe's dull-brown coat. 
Be brave, my special friend, 
For your kindness is a wondrous gift, 
That will be rewarded in the end.

For today, the village children, 
Will come forth with mirth and glee, 
And choose a gifted animal, 
To parade the Christmas Nativity. 

The one they wish to draw the cart, 
Must be brave and strong and wise.
A character inspiring legends, 
And it matters not of his looks or size. 

Most certainly, 'twas to be a day of honor, 
Each horse knew he'd be the chosen one, 
And as they pranced and danced and strutted, 
Little Joe wished that far away he still could run. 

But, he held his big, floppy, dull-brown ears proud and high, 
On that magic December day; 
And planned to praise the favored horse, 
As that is a gentleman's way. 

Now, on this day the village children knew 
Exactly which way to go, 
So they patted, politely, each sassy horse, 
Then they dashed away to. . .Little Joe! 

We want Little Joe, forever, they sang aloud! 
He is brave and wise and strong!
He must pull our Christmas Nativity cart, 
Because God knows, we all belong! 

Oh, if you can imagine the pride he felt, 
Adorned in grand Christmas design, 
With holly and ivy and mistletoe, 
Yes, he's the happiest burro you'll find! 

And as he drew the cart along, he smiled upward, 
At the joy that Heaven can bring. 
For lo and behold on that Holy Eve, with his big and floppy, dull-brown ears, 
He was the only one that, indeed, could hear the Angels sing! 

Copyrights: Photos and page text content copyrighted, Cris Paravicini, 1999. No part may be reproduced without permission of the author/photographer. Page graphics copyrighted, Pinedale Online, 1999.