Christmas 2025

Six months and more the shadowed night had fled,
O’ershadowed by the Joy of life’s pure light;
But now, in these, the darker months of night
That last and last, my grief upsurged is wed
With wrath, surprised that grief, no longer dead
Has risen unexpectedly, a blight
Unwelcome, like Bethlehem’s star so bright
In Herod’s hateful eye; to crush my head,
My grief deposes me from Joy’s high throne
And lays me low again before the dust
Of earth from which I came, where he alone
Is laid to rest for now. And now I must,
Like wise men two years hence with Joy unknown,
To Him my gift of restless grief entrust.