the stable door shakes in the cold night wind;
the cattle snort and snuffle in the straw;
by city wall the lanterns glint on steel;
what will become of Mary's child this year?
for are we sure that miracles stay true -
if lost to mind, to heart, to memory?
will Herod have the last laugh, one year soon?
wise men and shepherds miss the heavenly?
will children fail to sense, soon, in the light
that glints on tinsel and bright packages,
the holy present in the gift's delight;
nor sense the angels' textless messages?
this baby, gift-wrapped in its shawl and stall
just may be - may still be - the Lord of All?
revisited
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem