At the coming of the night, the harsh defining edge of all that is
Disappears in the folds of night’s robes, and thought flies to You,
A child ensnared in its mother’s embrace, plenteous, round as a world.
Lovely is the night that swallows all in love. To think here
On this familiar ground, once love gave all that we might live
Is thought too large to think this night, this holy night.
When stars retreat and bow in courteous welcome of the day,
A child’s voice, eternity within it, rings a warning bell of weeping
Yet to come. But on this holy night, this night like banished love
Returned, a mother’s touch, for once, is sufficiency -- love accepts.