Not sleeping but seething.
Swarms of rest-seekers
begging inn-keepers
for a bed.
Look where little Bethlehem lies.
No silent night.
Streets lined with Roman soldiers
and criminals on crosses,
hung as gasping warnings
to the passing throng.
Look where little Bethlehem lies,
between sheep on the hillsides
and star in the east.
Occupied territory
teeming with lost souls
far from home.
Look where in a manger lies
- hay scratching new-born flesh,
nuzzled by flea-ridden beasts,
the everlasting arms
bound by swaddling bands -
Hope of the nations,
Wonderful Counsellor
And Prince of Peace.
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