I hurd the storie & I tolde it back,
god-gifted, to spyce up the craic,
lyke a poet made it to synge- true
in the waye the worde-worlde is true.
Hosannah. Hallelujah. Holy.
I sawe no Angels but I thought them- Men
of wynged Lighte- A Starre -& thenne & thenne . . .
I hurd the storie & I tolde it back,
god-gifted, to spyce up the craic,
lyke a poet made it to synge- true
in the waye the worde-worlde is true.
Hosannah. Hallelujah. Holy.
I sawe no Angels but I thought them- Men
of wynged Lighte- A Starre -& thenne & thenne . . .
Lovely in the saying, goodly, alle new
in the waye Soule to Bodye is new.
Holy. Hosannah. Hallelujah.
But the fishe I caught was wordless grayce
& the fyre to cooke it & the taste-
no neede to think & speake them true
to feede five thousand & thenne you.
Hallelujah. Holy. Hosannah.
Carol Ann Duffy is the Poet Laureate. “Apostle” appears in her anthology The Twelve Poems of Christmas: Volume Eight, published by Candlestick Press (£4.95).
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This article appears in the 13 Dec 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Christmas and New Year special 2016