StableNo room at the inn for them. But this is justthe latest of their tribulations. Think How the ordeal began: the girl pregnant, the man outraged. Well of course he was, They'd never been to bed. This was the Spirit? Moving in His mysterious way. Not peace. A sword. And get, here with the beasts shuffling, Chewing their bit of mildewed hay, there is Peace of a kind, in the glow following birth. And the wise glimpse it with their souls far off. It draws them. They call it a star. A hidden star. Philip Martin (1931-)  |
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