Poetry

By Giles H. Florence, Jr.


His Gift

above all
the gift
that came
this stillest night
of the year—
this gift
of king and priest,
this Word made flesh
for those with ears
to hear—
bears not the first birth
only
but the second,
on until the last.
His heirs know
the only way
back is onward
through air
then water
then fire.

Soothing Waters

As you reach out to me
in sisterly concern,
and minister
to the mountains
of my daily living,
I marvel how it is
that I deserve
such loving aid—
I do not remember
casting bread.

[illustration] “Nativity Scene,” by Carl Bloch