There will be no donkey,
and especially not a little donkey.
I'm eight-and-a-half months pregnant.
I couldn't swing my leg over its back.
If I sat side-saddle, I'd probably fall off
and if I stayed on, it might trigger my contractions.
Now if Joseph could afford a camel....
but Joseph can't afford a camel,
so I'm going to walk.....
eighty miles
eighty pregnant miles
to register to pay the poll-tax...
I don't know what it will be like
and, since Joseph left the town
when he was just a toddler,
he can't remember either.
I ask you....
would any of you who a\re women
want to walk eighty miles,
when your time has nearly come,
to give birth,
in who knows where,
to a child who is a source of consternation
to your parents before he is born
and who will be a source of controversy
to the world ever after.
When I was a girl
I used to love playing practical jokes.
All our neighbours would roar and laugh
and say to my mother
"Where does she get her sense of humour from?"
Sometimes when I think of the mess
that Joseph and I are in,
I smile to myself
and realise I got my sense of humour
from my maker.
