We Shepherds Three

We shepherds three

camped in the fields below the hill

our flocks huddled for warmth

      in the cave at our backs.

We are the door of the sheep,

with our fire at the cave mouth,

our cheeses, breads, and skins of wine,

one with a flute, and one with a lute

and one with the voice of a frog.

We cast no grand illusion.

We are not pious folk.

Often our wives are glad to see us home,

often they are glad to see us gone,

rough men, unkempt men, smelly men,

“You sleep with the sheep.

You smell like the sheep,”

      the townsmen say.

This night was like all other nights

if anything darker, the wind more severe,

We expected nothing

except a cold long watch

with the sheep in the cave at our backs,

with our fire at the cave mouth,

our cheeses, breads, and skins of wine,

one with a flute, and one with a lute

and one with the voice of a frog.

I wish I could say we were at prayer

and that incense, not smoke,

      filled the night air.

But we sang shepherd songs

of loves long since lost,

of fighting and brawling,

the things we know most.

It was then that the angels came

and the glory of God filled the night air.

To shepherds three, coarse and unkempt

they brought tidings of great joy.

“This day in the city high on the hill

a Savior is born Christ our Lord.

A babe you will find, laid in a manger

      and wrapped all secure.”

And suddenly the sky was filled with

Myriads and myriads of angels

     singing God’s praise.

We shepherds three set a guard for our sheep

and went up the hill to find him asleep.

Mary and Joseph with Jesus the child.

We gave what we had to the baby so mild,

our cheeses, and breads,

      and skins filled with wine,

And we sang him a lullaby

one with a flute, and one with a lute

and one with the voice of a frog.