I was asked for a poem for the newsletter the churches here send out to all the houses in the town at Christmastime. This is what I gave them and they printed. I think it's reasonably good, though it could probably still be improved here and there.

I think I see defences start to crack;
this world shall hear, and see that I am right.
The pawns pass round to right the rook's attack
advancing under cover of the knight
to trap the piece of God, where he shall lose,
and all his plans shall prove themselves in vain.
You, God, who never walked in human shoes!
How can you think to judge a world of pain?
Then all is changed. He takes my form. His flesh
lies screaming on a filthy farmyard floor,
grows up, is murdered, builds the world afresh--
a king triumphant, out of check once more--
counters my every effort to disprove
and asks: what will you do with Christ? Your move.