For 5 years after “Gifts of the Magi” (see MY POEMS OF CHRISTMAS #16), I wrote no Christmas poems. But in the 6th year, after news of several deaths crowded our holiday season, this sonnet came to me....
Our noisy table brood has slipped away,
This roof, its rules and rituals outgrown. . . .
Yet we still light the wreath that waits the Day,
Content to celebrate as two alone.
As Advent marks the end of every year,
So lately it has brought a final word
About dear friends who’ve quit their journey here,
Whose “Merry Christmas!” won’t again be heard.
Despair makes hope and peace seem overdue
Within this weary world, so worry-worn.
But Advent shines its starlight ever new
And welcomes love divine to be reborn.
Grace greets our griefs with Advent’s sacred call.
The wreath’s four candles? We’ll ignite them all!
— David L. Hatton, 12/11/2015
(this is in Poems Between Here and Beyond —
for purchasing it, go to My Books 4 Sale)