The Oblates of Mount Saviour Monastery

A simple man and good he watched the sun
begin its slow and winter creep,
and wondered at the numbing night now done
and if his wife had caught a bit of sleep.
And jumped: was that the baby he just heard
or just the gurgle of a waking bird?
No, neither bird nor baby would it seem—
that voice again, the one inside his dream.
Its echo never left him ever since
he found his life with mystery suffused.
But was he mystified or just confused?
Then noticed in the sky his eyes a-wince
just where the sun its rising arc had drawn:
a lonely star unstifled by the dawn.