by Wanda Stricklin Robertson
No loud, lighted shopping malls,
No shimmering street lights in a row,
No service stations with dazzling fluorescents,
No string of cars with headlights beaming.
No burning bush in the wilderness,
No lanterns to light the crooked paths.
No brilliance to point the way home.
All was darkness, gloom, murkiness.
Then, over a barn in Bethlehem,
a star appeared, lighting the sky,
illuminating the Baby, the shepherds,
the angels, and the hearts of mankind.
The ones who witnessed the flaming star
wondered what it would mean to them,
not knowing why or how, but knowing
that nothing would be the same again.