Poetry at Christmas with R.S. Thomas
Christmas
There is a morning;
Time brings it near.
Brittle with frost
And starlight. The owls sing
In the parishes. The people rise
And walk to the churches’
Stone lanterns, there to kneel
And eat the new bread
Of love, washing to down
With the sharp taste
of blood they will shed.
Nativity
The moon is born
and a child is born
lying among white clothes
as the moon among clouds.
They both shine, but
the light from the one
is abroad in the universe
as among broken glass.
