poetry friday

The Ballad of the Christmas Star
by Frances Frost
winterbarnatnight from asmalltowndad at wordpres dot com









Above the mountain’s crest,
The star against the blue
Blossomed; and on the breast
Of darkness, hemlocks knew
The gentle weight of whiteness,
The easy wind’s soft sound
That sifted the silver lightness
Across the drifted ground.

Huddled within the grey
Barn’s warm and weathered walls,
The calves were restless; hay
Was sweet in the bedded stalls,
But the horses whinnied, shaking
Their halters, seeing the star
Through the small window, breaking
Over the mountain’s bar

Like an opening flower, gold
Upon the heaven’s deep
Clear cobalt, as of old.
The drowsy mother-sheep,
Her lamb nuzzling her side,
Lay in the dusky straw;
The lamb tottered and cried
Toward the window, when it saw

The great star lifting slowly
Over the snowy sod,
Over all creatures lowly,
As over the Lamb of God
It burned once on a blowing
Night…and the lamb was still,
Watching that brilliance growing
Over the wintry hill.