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Walking in Darkness

  • Michael Edwards
  • Dec 20, 2022
  • 1 min read

by Michael Edwards

The stars

—like angels—

fill the night.


And yet their light seems cold.

Not looked for,

not seen:

This single drop of dew, welling

—tear-like—

from a rose.

The baby Jesus sleeps once more

in the ripe womb incarnadine.


Or so it seems.

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