And has it been two thousand years--
That one eternal Gift bestowed
To calm the fury of our fears--
To bear for each a mental load?
Yet, in this frail, restrictive skin
That each must shelter from the cold
Of winter death, inclement men--
We need a time to be retold.
We need to insulate from ice
By donning fantasies of mirth.
We need to feel our lives suffice
By wearing ritual rebirth.
With euphemistic evergreen,
With hope of peace hung on a tree,
We warm our pagan needs to mean
The heart of Christian mystery.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015