The Christmas Present …

A holy child

is sleeping;

born beneath

an eastern star;

the promised one, the saviour,

The Messiah.

No silken canopies

enfold this royal cradle;

no rich accoutrements

adorn His birthplace –

in this lowly stable

where He lies –

the King of Kings –

in His mother’s arms.

She is weeping ..

Does she visualise

a crown of thorns

above His infant face

for our redemption –

and His gift of love

and grace;

her son’s sacrifice?

About atomsofstars

Reticent .. but I hope my poetry speaks for me .. Favourite quotation .. ' Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination.' Ludwig Wittgenstein
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