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Nativity

From the gloried hill they come,
four grizzled men,
song dazed, sky drunk,
their eyes alight with new born stars,
to see their promised sign,
my swaddled son.
Shy, shy,
with pipe and muffled drum
they play for him a shepherd's lullaby.
And to the boy, I know,
their meager music was like a gift of gold,
or a Temple offering.
Written by Baldwin
Published
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