Tuesday, December 12, 2017
   
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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
silhouttes 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 Jacqui de Verteuil CSJ
 

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