Christmas

The night breathed coolness and a deep repose
In misty dreams of olive groves that keep,
And saved from all the noonday heat that glows
The stigmata of cities, buried deep.

Darkness coiled over the planet, sleeping,
And in the sky, the fire's banners flew.
By winds and mists and heavy silence sleeping,
The mountains bowed their heads and nothing knew.

And in the valley, parched and desolate,
While the whole world in stupor lay and slept,
None saw the desert sand, by some strange fate,
The tracks of the Three Great Ones softly kept.

The Earth fell silent, waiting for the Sign.
The Mother trembled. Silent stood the Sire,
Not seeing yet above the head, in line,
A rainbow crown of faint and spectral fire.

But then – a flutter of an angel's wing,
A sudden sheaf of radiant, blazing light,
Which had no need of any other thing
To cast the slithering fears back to the night.

And, like a sigh that drifted over land,
From heavy bonds discovering the key –
Beneath the morning Star that took its stand,
A wondrous Child awoke for all to see.