A peasant girl, new mother, lost
and tired,
Walks quietly in amidst the crowd,
the noise.
Bears one small taper, with its tiny
flame,
Unnoticed by the ones who gather close.
One breeze could end the light
before it shines
But husband hand, worn hard by
hammer blow,
Though rough, shields gently with
a fost’ring love,
And hopes to see this light
develop, grow.
Two figures move from shadow to
the light.
One knows he now can lay his burden down.
His waiting over, he has seen the
hope
Which will repel the darkness,
light the throne.
The other; ancient woman, full of
prayer,
Whose decades wait has drawn her to this place;
Finds movement pulsing in her
creaking limbs,
Her song renewed, this light floods
worlds with grace.