Unto us a child is born.
How wonderful!
A little child, perfect and beautiful; no words can describe him.
His eyes. They will be able to see trees, and the color of silk, and the face of his beloved.
Unto us a child. Hosannah.
He has hands.
They will grasp and pull, and fashion curious things, and build bridges, and structures that will
     pierce the sky.
His ears will know sound, and his brain will comprehend it.
His brain. It is something beyond belief.
If you would look at it, you would not know anything about it. It is a miracle.
It can dream, it can conceive, it can devise, it can reckon.
A child.
How can we find words to praise him?
A man child?
A man.
A woman child?
A woman.
How is he colored? Is he brown, is he light? Black, yellow?
Brown, yellow, white, black. A small child. A complete thing.
Centuries of centuries have wrought to make this being. A confluence of atoms joined only once
     in time to produce this human child.
A miracle.
Bow down your heads, for here is the glory of the world.
Was he born in a hospital ward?
In a ward.
In a mud hut? A thatched hut?
A mud hut, a thatched hut, a stone house, an open field.
A child.
Feed him on hot dogs and put him in the Army.

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This page copyright 2006 by Charles H. Smith and Nancy Schimmel. All rights reserved.

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