An ache rises in my breast,
Nostalgia nearly painful,
And the conflicted desire
That it remain or cease.
Crèche,
Twinkling lights,
Carols, wreathe,
Tinselled tree,
Shiny old baubles
That laser to my heart
Images so vivid,
Faces, souls, ghosts
Of seventy some Christmas’s
Only memory can contain
While I ponder the mystery
Of God born in time.
Et verbum caro factum est
Et habitavit in nobis:
The Word became flesh
And deigned to live among us.