Letters to the editor

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That first Christmas

By Jeannette Cabraal

Soft on the hills, angelic sounds hold sway,
Down in the valley, the shepherds watch and pray
A tail star gently trails across a sombre sky,
A breathless hush, a mystic moment –
Peace seems passing by.

Pic courtesy - penitents.org/stationscrib.htm

In a hovel bereft of comfort
The Prince of Peace is born,
Wrapped in swaddling clothes,
Of might and grandeur shorn,
Straggling shepherds, blinking oxen

An aura of heavenly light,
A humble maid, a trusting man,
And a Godhead veiled from sight.

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