When it happens in the moment, it’s never rehearsed;			
The props go missing; the child arrives headfirst				
Without midwife. The elements this time, not bread and wine,		
But hay and manger, ox and mare; the cupboards are bare.			

Passersby will serve as witnesses, shepherded to the birth.
The chorus will rally for peace on earth.
Others, like the wisemen, will view from afar 
A disorder in the universe, a star.

But Love is never wasted or extinguished 
For love is like a fire. When flame is trampled
Underfoot, the embers still persist: a spark
Will flare into flame to overcome the dark.

For love is a fire, and those who light the night, 
They are the choir.