A beacon from the firmament

A globe of fire in star-lit sky

An omen surely heaven-sent

To guide the wise to wonders nigh

 

“Our road leads west,” the kings agreed

“Our fortunes bound to yonder star.

With sturdy hearts and all due speed

We must away to lands afar.”

 

Assembling modest retinue

The learned three betook their quest,

Celestial pharos e’er in view

A burning purpose in each chest.

 

Across the plains of Samarkand,

And choking desert wilderness.

 O’er gasping mountains toiled the band

Through regions strange and comfortless.

 

At last, upon a night divine,

Arrived they unto Bethlehem,

To there behold no stately shrine,

But rough-hewn stable waiting them.

 

“Praise to the Lord!” the wise men cried

“That in this humble place doth bide

Philosopher, exalted guide,

The child in whom all fates reside!”

 

At calm repose a newborn lay

Serene upon a bed of straw

Its mother rested steps away

The visitors approached with awe.

 

“Accept these gifts, Madonna Fair

For this, your Son of blessed birth,

We offer gold in princely share

To He who will bestride the Earth.”

 

“Rich frankincense, a treasure rare

Befitting Heaven’s champion,

And myrrh to sanctify the air

Surrounding this, our Holy One.”

 

The mother, clearly unimpressed,

Just took another bite of hay.

The child no gratitude expressed,

But bleated in an anxious way.

 

The Magi were confounded sore

Had they displeased the newborn king?

A shepherd boy rose from the floor

And said “You see guys, here’s the thing…”

 

“That gold and stuff is great,” he winked.

“For such as them what wears a crown,

But these are sheep.  I kind of think,

You want the kid two mangers down.”