Buses manoeuvre into parking spaces

Guides shepherd their pilgrim flocks.

Street vendors sidle, brandishing souvenirs,

‘Postcards two shekels,

Silk scarves very cheap.’

The faithful stream towards the ancient church

Eager for signs of God among us

And crowd together on the steps into the cave

Where incense hangs heavily in the air

And time stands still.

No angel voices here, no docile beasts,

Merely the murmuring of the black-robed priest.

An altar, richly ornamented,

A silver star set in a floor of stone

To mark the manger.

No room to gaze in prostrate adoration.

A moment just to kneel, or touch the star

And then make way for all the eager multitude.

The senses numb with wonderment,

Unreality of sunlight after gloom.

Faith transcendent; tawdriness of commerce

In the streets of Bethlehem.