Out of this house where there is no room For the little ones that to him belong (He is weak but he is God)
A poem by Madeleine L'Engle
This is no time for a child to be born, With the earth betrayed by war & hate And a comet slashing the sky to warn That time runs out & the sun burns late.
Written 23 December 1990
High steppin' camels one by one See the wise men boogaloo Down to Bethlehem to have some fun
On a stony trail through the Sinai wastes A little family headed south Father, mother, little babe A burdened donkey, head drooped down
with Roberta Maran
May you be gifts to those you see Better than presents under a tree