On clear cold nights when far stars speckle skies
& woodsmoke goes straight up & disappears
a dozen constellations to my eyes
are dull blurs when I think back through the years
to when the angel spoke to us that night
joined by the brilliant vast angelic choir
which overcame our senses with such light
& planted in each man the same desire
that prodded us till we reached Bethlehem
& led us to an unmarked cattle shed
We stumbled in and startled both of them
those parents by the baby’s manger bed
The townsfolk were astounded by our story
of uncouth shepherds blessed to see God’s glory
—D. S. Martin
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