A manger crude, and bare
exposed to open air,
with ox and ass as witness
the birth of God's forgiveness.
At the meanest crib attended,
the Light of the World descended.
And a mother's aching heart weeps
for God's son upon hay sleeps.
Holly berries red as blood,
and pine and fir staked in the mud,
The sparrows feast on the berries
as the slanting sun ceases to be merry.
A festive holiday wreath
for my child who lies beneath.
And a mother's aching heart weeps
for the child who in her heart, she keeps.
Jennifer D. Behnke - December 26, 2014
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