β
We have been here before,
staring at the slow slide of a stick,
waiting, waiting, waitingβ¦
Year after year,
there was no room for us in the inn,
no shepherds, no angels, no prophecies,
no hope, no coming.
But this time, two lines herald the Eve of a birth
Two lines,
like the beginning and ending
of a chapter of our lives.
Handel could not compose
something so beautiful.
Gabriel could not bring better news.
All the yearβs fortune changes
in the end, as new life evolves.
β
β