December 1st 2007 Advent

THE

WAIT



November ends,

Winter pretends

She's harsher than

We think.



She blows us to Mass,

Where ringed in green grass,

Are purple

And one candle, pink.



Purple is lit,

We kneel then we sit.

The waiting has now

Just begun.



Four weeks, we will fast,

'Till waiting is past

And winter will

Dress for the Son.



A ball gown of white

To all our delight

And trimmed

With an evergreen fir.



Holly with berries.

Her lips like red cherries.

All mens' eyes will

Fall upon her.



But winter December

Remembers November,

When harsh, she

Blew us to Mass.



Where purple and pink,

Recalled us to think

Of the Hope

In their colored green grass.



So winter's gown blows

In the wind, driven snows,

Piling high,

Making paths between drifts.



She'll seduce us to go,

Midnight Mass,

In the snow,

All dressed for the Son and His gifts!