Monday, December 24, 2012

Christmas Eve






 CHRISTMAS EVE
A Poem
     
The hungry darkness prowls the street.
A whisper troubles him.  A word
long dead arisen from—who knows
the where, the when? Enough to shake

his long complacency. A spark,
a light, a star—the whisper grows
in corners, flickers, and is gone.
A child, he hears.  Ah, he will take

precautions, weave unwelcome in
closed doors,  a bed of straw to greet
the newborn danger, ox and ass
to trample weakness.  His mistake.

Straw burns.  The shadows cringe, retreat
as night goes up in flames upon a wooden stake.

©2012, Abbey of St. Walburga, Virgina Dale CO