Christmas Light

at the darkest, deadest, depressed
nature's hour,
holiness yeasted a light,
a glimmer, slowly seen,
and then hope burned,
and knowing slowly caught.

This is Christmas, light and dark,
and natures' canvas dims,
paints the inner meaning,
born in a cave.
The first etch of Redemtion.

poem by Bernard Kennedy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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