Before Him turned toward me,
was a beautiful blonde gracious Lady,
who lifted the infant and seemed to flee,
through a gate near me, yet far maybe.

I started to speak and said 'No he's mine',
then pursued the two along another path,
weary i felt, not fresh and fine,
but could not find them, yet without wrath.

The dwelling where the infant stood,
was low in build like tent seemed.
The Lady was kneeling before him,
good was the vision i must have dreamed.

It must have been Bethlehem,
or i felt at least in the holy land,
that i beheld this wondrous gem,
of the infant and lady, God-given grand.

Was this not the forerunner of the story of old,
the christmas to come, the glorious time,
the birth of the Christ-child two-thousand fold,
yet spring-freshly new, truthfully subline?.

Image from here