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Shepherds, Joseph Smith, and Divine Reality

By Emily Milner

I invite you to read and savor with me two poems, both by Darlene Young (and both available in her excellent book Homespun and Angel Feathers). Take a minute out of your Christmas preparations; they are worth your time.

I: Shepherds:

Don’t tell me about rose-cheeked Arcadian youth
gathering daisies on a hillside
piping tunes to their cloud-fluffy sheep
under the stars.

No, these were foul-smelling, lusty
men with dirty necks, greasy hands,
snorting, arguing, joke-telling, nose-picking
men—one wearing stolen
sandals (although I admit he felt
guilty about it)—gambling on who
had the best aim as they chucked rocks
at a nearby lizard.

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