a poem about Advent as Joseph walks to Bethlehem, searching for a room


Joseph's dilemma

trudging along your bones astir
go be counted your numbers confirm
our Virgin Mother her womb in dance
as Infant Tenant drums his warm rapture

from door to door you seek out your brothers
no advance notice they all protest
Bethlehem's inn your last resort
no room they swear for census anon

your dilemma compounded any shelter will do
out of the blue you gain a stable
scruffy despoiled unworthy of Master
burdened and broken you make wheat of chaff

and I rush in to give you a hand
my hairs alerted sweep the stolid floor
the stable is warmed my heart's on fire
as pots of my blood put water to boil

garlands of mind create bed for Master
my swaddling skin wraps Him all over
all done my eyes race to Mary and Joseph
flooded with love from Infant's cry




Poetry by mark nwagwu
Read 419 times
Written on 2009-12-14 at 15:16

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