EN-US;mso-fareast-language:RU;mso-bidi-language:AR-SA">After Christmas
Gone is that errant star. The shepherds rise
And, packed in buses, go their separate ways
To bench and counter where their flocks will graze
On winter grass, no bonus of sweet hay.
The myrrh, the frankincense fray from memory:
Another day of waiting for the day.
(
а волхвы у него какие! а Ирод! и все-все-все )