Holy Heralds
they are
no angels proclaiming
on this Christmas dawn
but sleepy rustlings
and voices
from fields
and barn
White-throats and cardinals
softly chipping
in the meadow
at first light
hallow
the cold and cloudy
grayness
with their glad
tidings
The goats’ quiet
nickers
greet the only shepherd
present
in the stable
this morning
tending her flock in the darkness
and humming hymns
of the One
newly born
Awaken!
The Holy has come
Christmas slipping
in through
the sacred ordinary
of this
day of days
once again.
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