A Christmas Poem

by Steve Loggins

12/21/09

Mystery of God Incarnate, a babe in manger lay

In humble cave of Bethlehem, the One He sent to save

the world from man’s own folly, God now condescends

to shrink Himself to mortal flesh, to renew us as His friends.

O Blessed night of Coming! His advent to this earth

of sin and shame and heartache, such promise in His Birth!

We have someone to save us, from all that we may do

This little Babe, no sin has He, the First Man made anew.

The shepherds are the only ones to hear the angels sing

that God has come to Bethlehem, a stable holds The King,

Emmanuel, Messiah born, the Christ Child fully here

O blessed night of happening! A night to calm our fear.

A maiden fair, a handsome man, entrusted with His care

They have no home, no place to go, only the clothes they wear

Troubled times, with dangers near, the First family embarks

On a journey of faith that culminates with Jesus on a cross.

So now it starts, this Holy night of serene nativity,

The star is lit to guide the way for men to come to Thee.

A December Rose

A December Rose

By Steve Loggins

12/6/09

Rushing from the house to car to get where I must go,

Wondering if I have the time to do what I must do,

Suddenly I spy a Rose, in times when nothing grows,

For December’s here, and cold has come, its death is overdue.

I pause to look, to see its strength, and smell aroma sweet,

For it should not be, its time is past, but here it is for me

To see and touch and wonder at, for roses cannot beat

the cold of winter and how the earth makes times for growing flee.

This moment’s here, a brief respite from death, in glory stands

A Rose with outstretched petals fair, with beauty on display

For all the world who cares to stop, this rose makes no demands

It only grows and fulfills its goals of growing in the day.

“Stop the world from turning”, I cry, “make this moment last”

But it cannot be, only in my memory, can this rose truly live

Forever in its beauty and fragrant winter’s past

A future pressed in a book I hold, this rose will always give.

A December Rose, an unlikely time, to pause and see the world

And know the times, and hold the day, to claim what we all know

Instinctively, that life is short, our days are few, unfurled

Like petals of a rose that wait to embrace tomorrow’s snow.

A kiss of death, of finality, will tomorrow’s ice then bring,

The Rose will die, its petals fall, only…wait until the Spring.