It is a dark night, cold
Offering no relief from
the smell of sheep.
Their breath, like one
with my own.
My soul, chilled as
the night that shrouds me.
Grows weary with the
weight of my watch.
Heralds fill the darkness
with light for my vision.
The tone of eternity awakes
the hope in me.
I am drawn by worship words
to the smallest of places.
My life desperately needing
the promise there.
The future is birthed with
A babe, naked and vulnerable.
A king, beating with a shepherd’s heart.
Jay Cookingham December 4, 2002 ©
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