I wake in hope of swaddling clothes once more,

a baby softly mewling in the straw

while faceless Joseph watches by his staff

and gentle Mary warms the humble space,

a beacon in the hearts of men and beasts,

the hope and destiny of all to come.

Men passing by are drawn to see the child,

yet bend their knees in awe before her face,

unknowing she will guide them on their way

beneath the cold dark sky and through their trials,

until they realize too late their life was hers;

the babe himself who trod her path in faith

paid in the end the price of turning on her wheel.

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