the Sixth (a Christmas poem)
January 9, 2017
Passively I accept these gloomy
days attending another closing year.
Trees, house tops, driveways and
footpaths, all gleam from a drenching
rain that fell two days before. It is a
time of brightly yellowed trees;
losing their glossy aging leaves
that litter boulevards pointing to
woods and dark wind-torn fields.
No one sees me here, shuttered
behind weeping window panes
– feeling a bit helpless – somewhat
trapped, more a reflection of
I listen for the clock in the hall,
ticking off minutes and seconds;
chiming with insistent invitations
– awaiting some kind response.
But my thoughts, and there also
my reply, lay crumpled and damp
upon the forest floor. Muffled
beneath a timely gonging peal.
Help me earnestly celebrate Your Birth Oh Infant King.
For you bring Light into the darkness of Earth.
Pleading the Spirit’s gift – that being gift
number Six – to come with atomizing spray
to permeate the hearth – quaking this
shallow bog into a bone-burning blaze.
Then just like that – for it happens at Dusk –
dangling strings of lights set upon the eaves
decorate the rivulets coursing down my
window panes. Their twinkling employs
a kind of speechless, glowing praise.
Note: gift number 6 = Piety
Written by Hannah De Lisser