The Other Christmas Mothers by
John W Frye
Whispers in dark shadows, Mothers gossip, angry at Mary’s son. Illegitimate from the start, they say,
Grieving for dead sons, their own little ones.
What child is this?! Conceived in sin? Astrologers travel far to offer gifts. Herod’s guard swing bloodied swords,
Infants die as wild-eyed mothers scream.
What child is this?! Whose child is this?! Mary’s boy, alive little boy.
Why still living amidst our dead?
Angel visits cannot comfort These mothers’ bitter grief, Shared in deep shadows,
Darkened by innocents’ death.
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