stars glint, silently watching
them approach my gate.
He is tired as
he holds the donkey's bridle,
beyond exhaustion.
She, a round vessel
with worried eyes, silently
pleads, "Just one small room."
I too am tired.
They are not the first to come
far too late for warmth.
My rooms have been filled,
and I am concerned with much.
They can not stay here.
And yet, what room I
lack in my inn opens in
my heart for these two.
It is dark and cold,
and they are weary, heavy
with many burdens.
"I have one place," I
reply, "but it is outside.
I'm afraid we're full."
With shining eyes filled,
they follow to my stable:
a hut and manger.
I leave them alone,
wishing I had room on such
a night as this one.
I send my son to
give them bread and a blanket.
I have more work now.
It is not much, but
I have given what I can
with no room to spare.
