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The night looks sad and bitter
And a tiny lamp defines
Its sullen and cheerless air.
Inside its meagre lodging,
Where the animals are fed,
A young carpenter, worried,
Burdened, but not bewildered,
Ponders with his pregnant wife.
In expectation of birth
He cleans a dirty manger
And turns it into a crib.

— Conrado B. Beloso