Poetry

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I stand alone beside
the cowshed at night,
Watching the full moon,
Cast its silvery fragrance
Over the silent grounds.

Inside, the warm, cuddly smell
of the cows drifts out to me,
As the soft country scents
of fresh milk and sweet hay
Refresh my awakening senses,
Invigorating me with a new
Awareness of the countryside.
As I slip very quietly inside.

I squirm against a chesnut-coloured cow,
As I worm my way into the hayrack.
The cow goes on munching, unflinchingly,
As it must have done ages ago,
On that dark and lonesome night,
As Mary sat alone in the stable,
Her new-born babe in her arms.

I gaze at the straw-filled hayrack,
And imagine the Baby Jesus
Lying in the manger, still and quiet,
With the animals all around him.
A hole in the roof reveals a solitary star,
Twinkling brilliantly, to guide the wise men
To the stable where the Baby Jesus lay.

I can see them plodding up the valley,
On their swaying camels,
Anxiously looking for the manger
Where the King of Glory lay.
The door of the cowshed opens slowly,
And the shepherds come creeping in,
With their little lambs nestling in their arms.

The stable at Bethlehem
Is very quiet and still,
As the world waits
With bated breath,
For God's Son, Jesus Christ,
to touch the whole world
With His life-changing love.


(C) MIRIAM JACOB

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