December
by Gary Johnson
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
The hopes and fears of all the years, in intersection….
One of my all-time favorite poems.
I really ought to take my laptop to work so we can Skype-carol/yodel together again. “And ye beneath life’s crushing load…..” what did we know all those decades ago?
::giggle:: Well, you make it sound like we’re eighty…!
This is really nice. First time I’m reading this poem.
Paz
The hopes and fears of our years are caught up in that very same intersection… funny, considering how far away we are and how long we’ve been away.
Joel submitted this week – for a final time. We shall see.
Merry Christmas!
Heather