A Christmas Beechwood Poem by Bernard Kennedy

Over to the right,
through the wood oak doors,
the crib is set,
star, shepherds and wise
men who read the sky,
like a parchment of scripture.
Like lanterns the stained glass
looks on, another story told.
And gathered are the faithful,
Adeste, hats and brogues, ready new,
crisp sky and waiting-
the baby placed in crib,
the dramathurgy of church,
and mass begins and Christ
has come to Beechwood,
between baptistry and mortuary.

We gather from afar,
on camels of faith, drawn from
Brooklyn, Boston, Tralee,
home for Christmas-
and the crib is saying-
there is else,
and now, once more,
we have touched base
beneath centenary steeple
at Beechwood.