I’m seen less often in these modern times

Of email, Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram.

I used to fly down to this world in dreams;

Perhaps you’d just dismiss me now as spam.

But I still bring the most glorious of news

And speak of great hope and joy to come.

I stand behind you in checkout queues,

Brush past you on the bus. I may be dumb

In the face of all this noise, the traffic roar,

I tell of a family seeking shelter from the cold,

The miracle son that Mary would bear

Whose life and death would change the world.

So, listen for the whisper of my wing,

The quiet songs of love my feathers sing.

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