The baby Jesus in his cot

Knows nothing yet of Herod’s plot.

The ox and ass are blithely dumb.

They know not from where this child has come.

Carpenter Joe picks at his beard.

This birth is all that he had feared.

The shepherds came in out of the cold.

Deaf to this greatest story ever told.

Three kings with gifts too, quite a few.

They’d brought them for some friends they knew.

And Mary sits, her eyes bemused.

Her thoughts on Jesus quite confused.

Where did this child come from in fact?

A father was the thing he lacked.

The Holy Spirit was to blame.

At least that’s what the gospels claim.

The babe doth mewl and puke and roar.

The same sounds as the inn next door.

Only one angel sits aloft in glory.

She, only she, can tell the real story.

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