Witness

We are witnesses to a love come down
in humble form of humanness
born into a poor home, and laid
within the stinky hay trough.
Love came yet to witness to 
those rogues named shepherds
in the fields.  People with no respect,
no honor, sent out to do a job away
from the populace.  Yet love came still
love came in the still dark night,
not in the brightness of the day.
Love came despite all our unworthiness
and lostness in a world that doesn't understand
the hand which reaches out to the lowliest.
We still don't know how far the love 
reaches outside our own purview of those
we consider worthy.  What does a love
which has no bounds look like?  Vulnerable,
born naked into this cold world, which may
have missed the humble small form
of a babe amidst the straw.