Last Christmas

Last Christmas angels parted golden skies
With festal shouts of hope, goodwill, and peace.
Night shepherds’ little lambs with whitest fleece
Pressed in around my son to soothe his cries.
Then men from ancient lands who analyze
The stars appeared to us to our increase,
For gold and fragrances that would release
Us from our plight they brought to our surprise.
This Christmas, though, the angels have not sung
A single song proclaiming my son’s birth.
No shepherds, magi, night announcements, gold—
No reassurance whence our comfort’s sprung.
Instead our only hope upon the earth
Is faith his Father will his plan unfold.

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