Without a thought
Forced merrymaking
And presents bought
In crowds and jostling.
Alas, there's naught
In empty wassailing
Where oblivion's sought.
Oh, I'd be waiting
With quiet fasting
Anticipating
A joy more lasting.
With no apology
During this time
Of eschatology:
Judgment and warning
Come like thunder.
But now is the hour
When I remember
An infant's power
On a cold December.
Midnight is dawning
And the birth of wonder.