The Christmas Story

The Christmas Story

By
Ken Fortie

Each Christmas we read the story anew.
A story that brings us closer to
The babe born in a manger far
Beneath a bright new shining star.
Where shepherds first beheld His face
The Savior of the human race.
Where kings brought gifts of myrrh and gold
And bowed in reverance to behold
A mother who held her precious child,
And kissed his cheek each time he smiled.
She laid him in a manger where
Both king and beast beheld him there.
This child that soon would wash away
The pain and sin of all who say:
Dear Lord I come to thee in prayer,
My sins are more than I can bear,
Thy tender mercy I require
To live with thee, my one desire.
Thy love a healing balm to me,
My broken heart, my gift to thee.

The Last Leaf

The Last Leaf
By Ken Fortie

Hot summer days of jumping through the sprinklers, they have flown.
The brilliant hues of autumn gone to mystic lands unknown.

Too soon the painted hillsides fade as leaves are whisked away.
What’s left are twisted branches that in storms speak only gray.

Old leaves, now pale, have lost their glow, piled high in shades of brown.
And used to soften landings when at last kids must come down.

But low, what’s this, up in the tree one leaf that still holds fast.
Its will to stay through winters chill and storm is unsurpassed.

The winter watch, a daunting task, this rugged leaf does keep.
It stays the course till spring doth rouse new buds from winters sleep.

As each new bloom bursts from its shell and moves towards the light,
The old leaf knows his time has come and readies for his flight.

He gives direction for the young and teaches them of fall,
But few give heed or care to hear his withered voice at all.

He turns away and with a smile he bids them all adieu,
They’ll have to make their own way now and work their troubles through.

The warmth of spring gives great delight to each new forming bloom.
They talk of all that lies ahead without a thought of gloom.

From whence does come the final wind that gives the branch its sway,
To tell that leaf, "release your grasp, you'd best be on your way."

His parting goes unnoticed, a mere shadow from the past,
No thought of wisdom's absence as he slips away at last.

What did that old leaf have to say, what stories could he tell,
We’ll never know, we had no care, when with us he did dwell.

The Life of Autumn Leaves

The Life of Autumn Leaves

By Ken Fortie

A nudge from winter’s waking breath sends shivers through the trees.
Leaves dawn their travel colors for a flight on autumn’s breeze.

Their summer job of shading from harsh sunlight is now done.
And with delight they find their new found freedom’s just begun.


So to the swirling wind they say, your wish is our command.
And memories of their travels, they are written in the sand.

While racing down the street their chatter makes a chilling sound.
And one by one they cast a spell on those who are earthbound.

Now out of breath they pause to rest their weary wings a tad
Then dash away just one more time before they’re winter clad.


Like moving polka dots they glide against a crisp blue sky.
They swirl about and warn of snow to each cold passerby.

While winter waits they have no care and fly from street to street.
At last to find an end as they are crunched by tiny feet.







What fairy steals their colors bold and turns them all to brown.
She darts o’er hill and dell each night in every little town.


Soon winter finds them sleeping and a blanket she does send
To bring their playful mischief quite abruptly to an end.

Each snowflake glides so innocent then touches down at last
And trillions more do follow pressing leaves into the past.