I received this poem in the mail at one of the radio stations I worked at, probably WGSO, New Orleans, given the date on the poem. I had never heard of the author and I don’t think he’s the one who sent it to me.  I used it on the air several times, and I treasured the poem enough to make many copies of it and I filed them away. They have been lost for at least 20 or 25 years, maybe more. I had given up hope until last week, when I came across the original (no copies) in a box of memories stored in my closet. I thought you might enjoy it:

                                       The Christmas Mass
The snow was blowing out of doors
The drifts were piling high
And I could see pedestrians
As they were passing by.
The faces of my Irish friends
Came dimly through the glass
As they trudged along those icy streets
To worship at the Mass.

I thought a while, went back to bed
And cuddled safe and sound
As they plodded through those snowy streets
On sacred duty bound.
I envy them their strength of heart,
The faith that they renew
But on an icy cold Christmas morn
It’s good to be a Jew.