The men from the East see the star halting
Over the place where the Christ Child lies.
Their long journey seemingly at an end;
His just beginning.
They present their costly gifts
To the Child King.
“Look at me!” Gold boldly proclaims,
“I am indeed a gift fit for a King”.
Frankincense speaks slowly and deliberately,
“To benefit from me you have to burn me:
You can’t keep me forever like my brother, Gold.
My scent, however, lingers much longer than my fire.”
Only Myrrh is left to speak.
She quietly whispers but three words:
“Suffering
And tears”.
Joseph takes a live ember from off the fire
And places it in a pot of clay.
Mary chooses a tear of golden frankincense
And sits it carefully on the red hot coal.
Thick curls of heavy smoke
Wind slowly from the glowing coal.
Sizzling, melting, boiling
Yet smelling exotically divine.
The Magi bow low
And withdraw from the sacred scene,
Taking the fragrance with them,
Their new assignment just beginning.
Ross Hayden © 2001 Salalah, Sultanate of Oman
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