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NO
ROOM
No
room,
he
said,
there
is
no
room;
there's
no
room
here
for
you.
But
there's
a
stable
you
can
use;
I'm
sure
that
it
will
do.
I
wonder
just
how
Mary
felt
when
they
were
turned
away.
I
wonder
if
she
softly
wept,
and
what
did
Joseph
say?
I
wonder
if
he
held
her
hand
that
cold
December
night,
assuring
her
that
everything
would
somehow
be
all
right.
And
did
the
keeper
of
the
inn
feel
guilt,
remorse,
and
shame,
or
did
he
merely
look
at
them
with
arrogant
disdain?
I
wonder
if
the
animals
awoke
from
where
they
slept
and
grazed
awhile
upon
the
hay,
and
if
the
stable
smelt.
I
wonder
if
she
shivered
much
in
piercing,
frigid
clime,
and
if
she
agonized
in
birth,
and
did
it
take
much
time?
I
wonder
if
she
wept
with
joy;
did
Joseph
beam
with
pride
and
gaze
upon
his
little
son
asleep
at
Mary's
side?
I
wonder
if
the
shepherds
knew,
when
they
heard
angels
sing,
the
baby
born
upon
this
night
was
born
to
be
the
King.
As
Christ
seeks
entry
to
all
hearts,
transgressions
to
inhume,
I
wonder
why
that
still
today
so
many
say
no
room.
Copyright
©
2001
Ruth
Gillis
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