This is the view from the back of the church.
Come all ye faithful and gather to see
The God-man commanding your whole life’s search
From poinsettia blood nativity.
Sit down and partake of the Word made man,
Though pews be hard and the liturgy rough.
No harder than mangers where livestock ran,
Nails – destined for hands – hold a cradle trough.
Hear, the oft-told story bears repeating
Of angel bands singing to flocks by night,
Mother, husband, stood amidst the bleating
Backlit in the birth of their son, the Light.
The angels proclaim it still tonight. Hark!
When you enter here, the hold of Christ’s ark.
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