The three kings in robes of crimson and purple
As the gleaming star they have been following
Suddenly changes course.
They draw themselves to their full height
And put on their shining crowns.
At dawn, they gaze with tears flooding their eyes
At the pitiful forlorn ruins the star brought them to,
Their hearts brimming with sorrow,
To see such devastation and woe.
But the prophetic star shines brighter, softer.
Suddenly, they hear iridescent unearthly music
And know it to be the angels singing.
The ruins silently ineffably
To reveal a manger,
Encircled by baby donkeys,
Their furs glistening,
Gazing peacefully with velvet eyes
At the Child in the straw.
In the distance, the heartless distance,
Celebrating the birth of the Child
In material pompous splendour,
People were oblivious to
The star that shifted its course,
To the sudden glow of gold, crimson and purple
That for a moment stolen out of eternity
Lit the Syrian pitiful ruins with
And kingly compassion,
While the baby donkeys gazed
With jeweled eyes gazed.
Some lost donkeys literally froze to death as Syria was hit by the Alexa snow storm which also froze some young children to death in the refugee camps.