A Poem for Advent

They trod realms
where once the ancient prophets stood
to cry out and shed tears
on dry earth.
She rode a gentle donkey
by his side.
His new wife carried life,
moving, stirring,
soon to be.

They looked forward to his birth,
as sailors smell earth foretelling
waves of swelling seas
before the land.
Like sentinels ready to wake
a sleeping city,
they watched
the blue-etched rocky far horizon.

Their animal moved,
plodding
back and forward, rocking
in a tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot
lullaby.
Motion ceased,
while the little one
found peace
cradled inside her.

"We'll name
Him Jesus."
She recalled her words
while watching
undulating pathways, tired catlike,
stretch
before them.
Hillsides echoed a whispered word,
"Savior."

Embracing, they spoke
of the wayfaring road
and faced ahead.
They knew night soon would come,
and sunset's the creeping thief of light,
would slowly steal away the day.
Yet both waited,
calm and bold,
for His coming.

They sought their destination still,
not deterred by desert darkness,
and traveled long,
consoled.