The Babe lay in a manger,
a recessed animals' food table
in a stable
surrounded by animals who sought shelter from the cold, Some time later He would be worshipped by Iranian astrologiers called Magi or wise men,
who came to worship Him from afar
drawn by the conjunction of the Son of God's three stars*
Some 30 years later He would drive those who butchered
His animals out of the temple, overturning their tables.
Is there room in the inns of our hearts for His poor, His animals,
all His creation?
(The Star of Bethlehem was a trinity of 3 planets.. so close their
light looked like that of 1 star)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem