Poem: “Christmas is Waiting to Be Born” by Howard Thurman

Where refugees seek deliverance that never comes
And the heart consumes itself, as if it would live,
Where children age before their time
And life wears down the edges of the mind,
Where the old man sits with mind grown cold,
While bones and sinew, blood and cell, go slowly down to death,
Where fear companions each day’s life,
And Perfect Love seems long delayed.
CHRISTMAS IS WAITING TO BE BORN:
In you, in me, in all [hu]mankind.