Barren and cold, the desert sands extend,

Where caravan and robber compete.

A Landscape, seemingly an unfinished task,

Left by the Creator until another Day.

Alone and tired they came,

To heed the royal word.

Walking, riding – mostly walking,

From far and near, to each one’s place.

No reunion with friend and kin,

Not to feast and rejoice.

But with heavy steps, the conquered,

To declare, report, – and to be taxed.

The Chosen? The moment denies.

For those of Abraham’s seed,

Of Isaac, of Jacob,

The moment denies.

A pair is seen,

From afar they come.

One, a man, walks.

The other, fair maiden, rides.

The end in sight – Bethlehem town,

Hastening along – rocky, uneven path.

A slight whisper from the girl,

“The time is near, sweet Joseph.”

Strong Joseph, brave Joseph,

Eyes wet with tears.

“Why? Why now?”, reasons the man.

“We must hurry!”, to Mary, he calls.

“Not here!”, “No room!”, “Sorry!”,

The city can hold no more.

Then – “Here is a stable. It is warm.”

The city now holds One more.

Barren and cold, the desert sands extend,

Where caravan and robber compete.

A Landscape, seemingly an unfinished task,

Left by the Creator until another Day.

Alone and tired they came,

To heed the royal word.

Walking, riding – mostly walking,

From far and near, to each one’s place.

No reunion with friend and kin,

Not to feast and rejoice.

But with heavy steps, the conquered,

To declare, report, – and to be taxed.

The Chosen? The moment denies.

Yet! A new voice is heard.

A baby, a child,

The Bethlehem Babe.

The Chosen? Hallelujah!

The baby cries.

The Bethlehem Babe cries and cries!

The Mighty Christ is here!

Bill Otto

Enumclaw