We slept by turns,
attentive to the flock.
We said little.
Night after night, there was little to say.
But sometimes one of us,
skilled in that way,
would pipe a tune of how things were for us.

They say that once, almost before time
the starts with shining voices
serenaded
the new born world.
The night could not contain their boundless praise.

We thought that just a poem —

– Richard Bauckham (from Song of the Shepherds)