My girl came home late,
long blonde hair snarled with sticks and leaves.
Brown smudges around her lips
clue to the hot chocolate she drank
in the cold dark,
waiting with her Daddy
for the travelers to Bethlehem,
so he could prophesy while she
pretended to be a log by their campfire.
No one saw her, and she was content
with invisibility.
Because she was with Him.
And that was enough.
I take the brush in hand, fulfilling my role
and restore the tangled skeins.
Prairie Sings 
Sweet!