The Christmas
Door
invites us to peep inside
perhaps to see the same badly costumed play
we've seen a thousand times before,
with shy shepherds five years old
and a fat little Mary
and a runny-nosed Joseph
and one of the wise men
putting too much exuberance into his role,
but when at last their tin whistle voices sing,
behind candles dripping wax on the sanctuary carpet,
Silent Night! Holy Night!
we feel the hair on the back of our necks rise
and would swear, if we had to,
that the air around us is disturbed
by the flocking of angels.
