The Christmas Pickle from Inge Glas

On Christmas Eve, when candles glow
And silver bells ring soft and low,
A little pickle, green and bright,
Is tucked among the boughs at night.

No one knows just when it came—
A curious custom without a name.
The children search with eager eyes,
While moonlight dances through the skies.

“Who finds the pickle first,” they say,
“Will have good fortune on Christmas Day.”
A tiny prize, a year of cheer,
And maybe luck that follows all year.

So through the branches, deep and green,
They hunt for what can’t quite be seen.
Behind a star, beneath a bow,
The hidden pickle waits below.

And when at last a child cries,
“I found it!”—joy lights up their eyes.
The family laughs, the bells ring clear,
As Christmas magic fills the year.

Whether legend, tradition, or holiday lore,
The pickle brings wonder from door to door.
For sometimes the sweetest Christmas cheer
Is finding a little green secret each year.