What to say anew this boxing day
with presents already gone
and voices stretched, strained, long drawn out
those well-known grooves so thinly worn
St. Stephen knelt and prayed aloud
that forgiveness might be found
by those who midst the clatter
heard only rain of stone
There was no music there
there was no soft fall snowflake air
there was no hush of winter morn
the dry-in-breath of frost filled dawn
His silence was of quite another kind
A silence gone now over
to grace a day
when gifts were giv’n away
the day of Stephen
first Christian martyr
What gift might I then give to you?
something costly
something new
something that wrought from me
cost me pain of honesty
that silence might not grow like ice between us
So on this St. Stephen’s day
let love of truth
find it’s way
to stride once more
with grace full sway
broadcasting seeds of trust amongst us
Sore eyes and bones
sore heads, hearts, homes
sore feet, weary hands
weary work
our weary land
rest quietly
as best you can for now
And take from this most difficult year
resolve
to give gifts of care
that love’s love might build a nest
and raise sweet song
above us
