Only a Shepherd
---------------
Poor shepherd!
Who was he 
to hope for an encounter with the King?

The cold brittle dome 
of a winter nightsky
his only friend. Orion's 
light-pricked outline more familiar 
than the dark-fringed eyes of his wife 
sleeping now in distant cottage with the
children.

What crossed his mind when 
into his restless vigilant sleep 
the glory of Heaven exploded?
What struck him first - the shimmering rays,
escaped from Heaven's open door
or the strange, reverberating sound
of angel voice,
celestial syllables to haunt him 
all his life?

Those steps toward Bethlehem - like
walking in a dream
with sheep left sleeping still 
on quiet Judean hill
except for one small lamb too weak
to leave behind
which now he draped around his shoulder
like a cape
as he hurried toward the manager bed
that held the King.

The town was almost silent.
The shepherd hurried on
past doors tight shut against the riff raff - 
loud, grumbling tourists - 
past the inn where in the courtyard voices
thick with cheap wine
laughted and swore and called their penny
bets. 

Just beyond the ragged edge of town 
where one crude shed 
stood braced against a rocky slope
the shepherd found the King - 

That tiny body
still wrinkled from a human mother's womb
which housed Creator, Savior, Lord.

Poor shepherd, indeed!

- J.R.S.