Friday, December 16, 2022

A Longing



I wonder now in Bethlehem

as shepherds tend their sheep,

is the grass upon the hills

coarse beneath their feet?

And do the shepherds search the sky

taking light from milk-swept stars

and start to hear a harmony,

a faint sweet sound, forgotten choir?

I wonder now these miles away

with all my concentration bent,

could I hear, too, a remnant play

across the generations sent

to those who would participate

in the Christ Child’s birth, however late?


©1995 Muriel Thumm

No comments:

Post a Comment


  She was dying    She was always dying The newest and most original    ailments kept coming We took a bathos    in her pathos U...