As woolen clouds touched earth and grew to fog, the sheared sheep shying, as sunlight dropped and puppy-dog wrapped its naked fur in dark, they started out. Stark shepherds crossed the wool-clad field, wool-capped and gowned, where downy grass-heads dripped their milk-white strands, slipped down the hill. Soft lambskin covered small boy’s hands, bleating; he carried his task while town lay sleeping.
Lights danced and sang in candy clouds above, star speckles glinting in the fleece. And newborn babe? Wise shepherds came to offer him a lamb.
Child’s hands grow cold. It really doesn’t matter anymore; waits for the son.