by Pavel Chichikov
October's lighted lamps are fallen
God's lamp of trees is empty
November's wick pinched black and cold
Look now in the monstrance of the Virgin's womb
Where the sinless child is burning
Even through her sinless skin
She carries forth this inner lamp
Through day and night increasingly
Unceasingly for us to see Him
It is a gift to give a Gift
Returned that makes three kings
Prepare their winter journey
Light for gold, incense for a grace
Love for adoration
Life amassed from death
So on the cold skull-strewn plateau
They see the light, the beacon
Of a cradled Child
Lost within a night they find a lamp
Glowing in a bed of straw
That will not burn it
And they who touch Him
Touch the feet of fire
That will consume itself alone
Mothers know within that which they carry –
His alone to give and take
And to the Spirit marry
Visit Pavel's Website at Grey Owl Press and The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov
