Cold, crisp air, bright lights, fresh holly
Mingle joy and melancholy.
In this season, saints are jolly
And still cold.
Friendly faces full of laughter
Offer hope. But what comes after?
Garnished rooftops hide a rafter
Bare and cold.
All the best of man’s adorning
May well hide a heart in mourning.
Sorrow rarely gives forewarning
Of its cold.
But this chapter of the story
Is, for him, known territory.
This is still the road to glory,
Long and cold.
Christmas came and comes each season,
A reminder of the reason
Hope endures in spite of treason,
Through the cold.