Look first, in peace,
within the secret place—
that lowly stillness of the heart that tells
wordlessly of shepherd-listening grace—
and greet the Most High.
Baubles, bells,
beribboned gifts or decorated trees—
if you have none of these,
are you deprived of Christmas joy and cheer?
Then seek again its depth,
all the year,
every season, seek the hidden scent
of buds—the undeveloped thoughts.
Warm them with your love to bloom
and see again, within,
that there is room
for everyone—not like the crowded inn.
Wise men brought tribute to this innocence—
the unadorned simplicity—Love-sent,
in child of promise. Myrrh, frankincense,
and gold of wakeful reverence,
was royal acknowledgment.
How the promise blossoms
into timeless hope fulfilled—
not in loud festivity or mirth
but stilled in manger of attentive thought
to holy listening for the inward birth
of Christliness.
