December

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also a partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and a 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 walk shoveled.
Not much triumphant going on here -- and yet
There is much we don't understand.
And my fears and hopes are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.

Garrison Keillor