In this snowfall season the birth
Of God’s furious and tender Son
Gives us our holy days by fire. Earth
Cradles once more the hope that Eve
And her winter children will receive
The Sunlit garden; because dear
Has no room in our savior’s castle
All love shepherds us.
The pageant kings
weep for us. In
argent rings
Heavent’s wild gabriels wrestle
For our very souls.
What stables here
Is time for us to give our sin
The shape of kneeling, to perch seven
Times seventy singing robins
Of forgiveness on our tongues
Blessing our enemies, that the bones
Which we have broken may rejoice.
No one is lost, not one, who yields
Himself to Christmas.
The red ribbons
Of his grief adorn us.
The voice
Of his mercy is heard in our fields.
-Arnold Kenseth
No comments:
Post a Comment