Читать книгу Destination Bethlehem - J. Barrie Shepherd - Страница 22

We need to be reminded

to look forward at least once a year.

So much we spend in peering back

across an urgent shoulder in these fearful times,

leery in case old you-know-who is gaining on us.

Therefore, just when calendars are growing

weary of themselves—the tattered, dog-eared,

tail-end of the year—we name it, Advent,

dig out five candles and the holly wreath,

and kindle hope again, with orisons, chants, hymns,

ringing words of ancient expectation.

In the midst of which, from time to time,

eternity—in ordinary flesh, and blood, and bone—

takes shape, dons time, draws near.