The
august one decrees and we must act.
Our
hearts, our thoughts, our guarded whispers rail
Against
injustice; impotent we quail
Before
the powers, and I cannot protect
My
loved one or the One she bears. In fact
We
leave our income, walk the weary trail
In
fear of thieves or worse. Though slow
and frail
We
come at last: begrimed, backs bent, soles cracked.
No
room! Yet no-one understands the shame.
Then
kindness makes an urgent quiet space
Where
he is born to grace our humble frame.
Amazed
I realise: Bad oppression's game
Has
brought us timely to the promised place.
He
knows. He's here. There need be no acclaim.
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