Midnight Christmas

The midnight air was a crystal vise

Crushing a billion bits of ice -

One stood out grand and glaring.

Mary, a virgin in her bearing,

Joseph trying to make the best

Of expectations. You know the rest:

Denied the use of house and table,

The birth took place in a humble stable.

Shepherds, black and yellow kings,

The sky a feast of angels' wings.

Thirty years later came the dove,

Ushering in the age of love.


The Return of the Magi

This town is one we've seen before:

These crooked lanes, that stable door.

Although it must have been a dream,

For never were we here before.

And that quick dog, scared and lean,

Crossing the square scarcely seen

And the dark-haired girl leaning out

The hostel window familiar seem. 

The sky was lit by the evening star

As now, but brighter then by far;

Above us shuddered angels' wings

And we had journeyed far, so far.


Frank Thomas Smith

An Amazon Kindle eBook of poems by this author - editor of SouthernCrossReview.org - is available here.

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