Lying in a trough.
Naked.
Cold.
Smelly.
Kings in splendid robes.
Ornate crowns
Expensive gifts.
For a King.
For this baby?
Humiliating themselves.
Bowing lower than the crib.
Soiling their robes.
Kneeling to look God in the eye.
Not in the stars is God found.
Not in the heavens.
�Look down!� �Way Down!�
Bow in prostration.
Our king reigns on a throne of straw.
On the lap of a poor madien.
In the shivering cold.
Bound in swaddling rags.
Will he reign in our hearts?
Let it be so.
By our constant effort.
By his constant grace.
Bow lower.
Lower still.
Sink into the ground.
Surrender to the infant in the trough
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