A Manger's Thoughts

by Atoy Salazar, M.D., S.J.

From an unnamed wood
Had I been born,
What once sturd’ly stood
A tree now meekly torn.

My rough-grained boughs
Four walls did build,
A floor that’s small
Roof open to the wind.

In this cold of night
I was not meant to be
The bearer of cool hay
For the ox and ass around me.

Instead I was to humbly hold
In my smoothened box’d bark,
With dry yarns of grass of gold
A tiny babe Who conquered the dark

His little body,
The Word enfleshed
Mankind’s salvation’s glory,
A Son most richly blest.

And so indeed my trunk was split
But not to be thrown, left to rot.
My King, My Savior, My Christ
To cradle Him was my lot