Christmas is Coming

I got the idea whilst at home in Scotland for the Festivities

A pale, brittle sky
flies against a purple sea,
Two bodies
in the arch of heaven
stand above the day.
The rising sun,
golden on cold, white snow.
A waning moon, whispers
to pallid clouds.
And one more.
An unseen Morning Star,
will wax bright, guiding
the Magi through the night

I imagine the Redeemer
come a second time.
The Christ,
from the glowing East,
walking in orange dawn.
No print in snow
to mark his passing.
He grants benediction
with pierced, torn hands.
Moving on, he stoops
to touch a bundle
of tattered cloth.
Your fellow man, says
the mendicant Messiah,
and I? Stooping
to share a kindness
with his Servant,
I feel that wondrous
star-light on my back.