Lamb
I remember the splendor
of the light we walked toward,
past fountain and bandstand
and empty swingsets
in the old square downtown,
where tall young people
stood around the manger
beside the quiet animals,
the rough-hewn stable
a meager shelter
in the chill of winter:
no ceremony or pomp
from the kings, no fanfare
or singing by the angels,
only the simple glory
of stars sifting the silence.

A shepherd girl smiled,
bending down—“Do you
want to pet him?
Here, take off your mitten,”
and guided my hand to a softness
nothing since has matched,
which still makes me close my eyes
after all these years,
as lamb and light, shepherd and king
again become one
in the blessed child, born
on a wondrous night.

Caroline Collins holds an MFA degree in Creative Writing and a doctorate in 19th century American literature from the University of Arkansas. Her poems have appeared in a number of literary journals. Her poetry collection Presences was published in 2014 by Parallel Press. She has been playing piano and organ in churches since the age of 14. She lives in the USA. She teaches writing and American literature at a college in the state of Georgia.