25. December 2006 · Comments Off · Categories: imported, Poetry

Maybe the angels didn’t sing;
melody wasn’t part of promise.
Wholly infant, unhaloed,
lies rag-wrapped.
Still the manger
cradles holiness.

But, for now, the baby cries
for human touch and breast.
One young mother reaches
for the child and the
adopted father
hands her God.

-Patricia Emerson Mitchell

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