Unto us a child is born of a woman,
nursed at her breast; the government is upon
him who shouldered the cross. Within world of sight
salvation springs up, enfleshed: rough hands hewn,
broke bread and washed feet. Water to wine, L'chaim,
by his body, we're healed. Trembling, she

touched his robe, yoke shattering, bleeding
shame, too. Daughter, he named, esteemed:
Go in peace. You are clean.

King in a cradle, born in a stable, Mighty God
traded heaven for here. Man of sorrows, stricken,
his blood-soaked shroud and ours are fuel for the fire.
From ash he rose, disarming darkness; with nail-
scarred hands and empty tomb, the Word revives
ancient tale. Another birth, grim curse reversed. Behold,
bending low what the Son of Man hallows:

Emmanuel makes all things new.

Shared with Imperfect Prose and the #progGOD challenge (even though Tony called poetry easy and suggested it might be a bit anemic theologically. Imma let you finish...)
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