Winter's Chosen One

Winter's white bones poke Through December's pale blue flesh. The trees are spectral, And black. The nights are so long. Nature resembles A negative photograph. Spring's incubation Is paused under frozen earth. This is the year's death. The air is filled with a kind Of numb nostalgia. Still, Christmas tidings of joy Await us. Give thanks For His innocent blessings. For He will come like The rare light of warm wisdom in the ravaged night; Haunted by cold presences. He will come in form Of ragged child, not as rich Satiated king, He'll be wrapped in swaddling clothes; Pure as driven snow. He will come as sacred one. Yet in flesh and blood. He will come naked as a lamb Yet clad in glory. When hardened earth has freed him, It's sweetest song bird, Who will beautify the world.