The winds strain the branches,
And the trees by the rivers of water
Rock at the roots as the world shakes
Under uncertainties, extending
From Pyongyang to Harare and beyond,
While the clouds race across the skies
Swept on, covering sun, moon and stars
That should shed a radiance, but don't.
While a baby lies in a manger
With animals of the night queuing
Alongside ox and ass, for a peep,
Just wishing he'd settle the storm.
But his time has not yet come
So we, and they, wait patiently,
Believing one day he will say:
'Peace be still' - and it will happen.
December 2017