Thursday, December 23, 2010

This Christmas

Lord, you know the prophet weeps
more for one salvation
than for the love of a thousand hearts.

You fill caverns of need
among tongues and nations of desire,
filtering away detritus and debris
left by the tidal reach of centuries;
the steam flows daily more clear and fresh.

A song flows from the kitchen
with savory odours of cooking
and clashing pans,
the workshop hums with the diapason
song of satisfying toil,
rediscovered are old ways of caring.

This Christmas your Son is born.

In the Bethlehem stable
of many hearts,
the shepherd in them
worships you.

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