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.
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