Beneath the aching winter’s shroud,

A child walked mute through the bustling crowd.

Her feet, bare whispers on the frozen stone,

Her ribs a harp of hunger’s tone.

She carried a box, her treasure, her thread

Of tiny star-sticks, sulfur-fed.

She called to the rich, the hurried, the gray,

“Buy one, kind sir, and light your way.”

But no one paused, no coin was tossed,

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Based on the Gospel of Luke 2

A decree from Caesar* spread across the land,

That all should go to be enrolled and taxed.

To Bethlehem, where Joseph took his stand,

With Mary, great with child, as law exacts.

While there, the time was come for her to bear,

And she brought forth her firstborn son, divine.

In swaddling clothes, He lay without a care,

Upon the straw, God...

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