His Advent

She beheld no light
attuned
deferred to sight
A simple babe
nestled so low, unrested
mid deckled straw
on yonder carpet
foreign soil
But nought He may
and nought He might
lurking, unamoured
amid oxen

Rest O Babe
no tune so rare melodious
as silently, silently
There waves the straw
flickered candle
silhouettes a mystery
unravelled, undetermined
a mysterious history.
Question its depth
behold its height
It's yours, your own
untold, unknown mystery

Cast its mold on me
Incarnate Son.
Behold I wonder
another mystery
in living testimony
to ponder
awakening
molding,
awakening
molding
within me
Your Advent

By Jacqueline de Verteuil CSJ