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.