Intelligent Design

A Poem of Christmas

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A baby’s cry pierces the dark night

Breath begins


A hanging man cries, “It is finished!”

Breathing ends


A precious child, sinless and pure

Wrapped in clothes against the cold


He who knew no sin, becomes sin

That he might be our righteousness


A Christmas babe

A dying man


As dark night follows the bright day

So Love bids one follow the other


But Sunday morning comes

And there is hope.