With happy prospect of a holy night
the shepherds watch the glistening angels glide
away then slither down the mountainside
and through the sleeping streets to get a sight
of their true ruler and the world’s new light.
Yet in their minds two different thoughts collide;
the infant and messiah must elide
and merge to form the ever-living wight.
The angels’ music swirls within their ears
and coils around the song Isaiah sang,
the promise Israel pondered through the years.
They dimly sense that somehow they belong
within the song, within the royal story,
and, like the angels, they have hope of glory.