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(I wrote this the first Christmas after my mother died)
For Our Mothers on Christmas
Beyond all other nights, on this strange Night,
A strangers’ star, a silent, seeking star,
Helps set the wreckage of our souls aright:
It leads us to a stable door ajar.
And we are not alone in peeking in:
An ox, an ass, a lamb, some shepherds, too -
Bright star without; a brighter Light within
We children see the Truth the Wise Men knew.
For we are children there in Bethlehem
Soft-shivering in that winter long ago
We watch and listen there, in star-light dim,
In cold Judea, in a soft, soft snow.
The Stable and the Star, yes, we believe:
Our mothers take us there each Christmas Eve.
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