Updated: Dec 10, 2021
It was winter.
The wind blew from the plain.
And the infant was cold
In the cave in the slope of a hill.
The breath of an ox
Warmed him. The livestock
Stood in the cave.
A warm mist drifted over the manger.
Having shaken hay-dust
And grains of millet off their sheepskins,
Shepherds stared sheepishly
From a cliff into the midnight distance.
Far off were a snow-covered field,
A graveyard, gravestones, fences,
A cart’s shafts in the snow drift,
And, above the graveyard a star-filled sky.