Poem December 22, 1980 Issue

The high point is always the angels

DARREN NELSON

The town hall is decked with children
for the Christmas pageant.
Joseph, on stage in the crèche,
looks remarkably like his father,
in the borrowed silk bathrobe;
three wise men, bowing with myrrh and gold,
smirk at each other secretly;
the fifth-grade shepherds keep watch on the audience
and a younger sister whispering, "Hi William, hi."

The motley children are not awed
by the drama they depict, except for Mary,
who is shy but has grown certain
in her role. She smiles benignly
at the wise men, then at the manger
where the little baby is supposed to be.

The high point is always the angels;
entering left, their earnest voices echo,
"Where meekness will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in."

In the quiet and cold walk home,
logic reminds us those were only
the neighbors' children. Notwithstanding, we
are are unaccountably aware of a single still star,
and some transparent wondering, some prayer
to remember more consistently
the high point is always the angels, entering . . .

DARREN NELSON

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