Only stench of animals and cold hard bed
of roughwood blesses newborn child.
Visited by wary shepherds, angel guided,
dark cave transforms to holy sanctuary.

This gift of flesh and flowing blood, refused
for want of grander entrance. People waiting
demand a greater, royal incarnation. Surely crown
and proclamation should accompany the birth.

Hushed and still in ebon night, but for crying
infant voice. Room fills with soothing song.
Come and see, Creator now created,
a teenage mother cradles God.

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