Every year this time
at the ending cycle of the sun...
hope walks again
along pathways of the heart.

An ancient dream
roots unknown...
a newborn
shall save the world.

The sun arcs south,
the bottom of the year...
a mother heavy with child
seeks her shed, a manger on high.

Three wise ones, three kings
brush the dust of long lost history off
its that time of year again...
time to rise and follow the star.

Shepherds alone on the hillside
sheep bleat, angels sing
forever witnesses to a miracle or a dream
a newborn saves the world.