The Shadow of The Cross
My heart aches for the childhood glow
Of Christmas Eve, the mill hands free,
The market thronged, the town brass band
Playing carols between the crib and tree:
At Midnight the choir modulates
From minor into major key,
The new born child placed in the crib
To be like us, a mystery.
The essence of my growing distress,
Although nostalgia plays its part,
Is how my head engages more
At the expense of my sad heart:
More of a doctrine, less a child,
His birthday cluttered with complaint,
An over-sated festive round
Making a nonsense of restraint.
Amid the bland and weary joy
I long to see the distant cross
Casting its shadow on the snow,
Reminding me of pain and loss:
God in the child and then the man
In sacred solidarity
Expresses more than doctrine can
Of what Jesus has done for me.