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Selection 17 of

Christmas Poem, 2006

by Mary Lambert

In my youth, I saw things clearly.
Like a plump cherry gleaming in the sun,
My seed was hard, sure.

Now I am a circle, deep.
Venal rivers run under the skin,
close to the bone.

This rounded portal, birthed by
the valor of many mistakes,
throbs with a secret heartbeat.

In this place, prayers and whispers reign.
Dreams are important.
As I bow my head to animals,
my folded hands mean something.

This path, alive with slippery mosses,
supports no stilted façade.
Dreams speak, giving passage to what lies beyond.
Guided by a drumming heart, this path follows a
main tributary, toward a distant light.

And then, a swift turn, the smell of incense.
A strange but wondrous place, this.
Unlike any other.

The heart's pull demands attention,
showing the way to the eternal star,
way-giver of the ages.

Then a great, golden presence:
a tiny babe swaddled, His humble birth
evident with purpose.

Robes rustle as kings bow. Foreheads meet
barren ground in honor of His presence,
His purpose, His gift to the harsh, human desert.

May His light show the way, softly, silently,
knee deep in longing for the golden child's
eternal light.

May we come together, giving thanks for this
everlasting gift to the raging, war-filled night.

Above, the star waits to calm and wash the dust
from the feet of beast, criminal and king.
Rejoice.


Selection 17 of

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Copyright © 2006 by Mary Lambert. All rights reserved.