The Nativity (Poetry)

A tiny stage for such a rare event —
His first big scene — the classic tableau set
against a modest backdrop; the sweet scent
of straw and musky breath of cattle met
His audience expectant but unsure
as children, drawn by rumour, crowd in awe.

Blazing bright, like neon, burned the star —
its trailer long foretold this happening
and advertised His coming from afar —
one night’s performance, fully cast, while winged
orchestras made music in the sky,
their overture conducted from on high.

Demure, the virgin mother in her blue,
the newborn child a focus of warm light,
all eyes upon Him, God’s love speaking through
His innocence, transforming all in sight,
knowing they were witness to a play
that shaped their lives thenceforward from that day.

Humble shepherds and much grander guests
bought gifts and gazed upon the infant king,
knelt before Him, hearts and spirits blessed,
lifted high, their voices, trembling,
praising Him — the frosty winter air
echoing — the word spread everywhere.

He had no lines — the baby swathed in white —
yet His small presence simply stole the show,
His debut changed the world that magic night
and sparked a lasting vision set to grow
and span the centuries — two thousand years
undimmed, the timeless image still appears.