Advent - Carol Ann Duffy
One last silvered leaf fails to fall
from its tree. A hard year’s winter
has frozen your voice.
You would still rejoice
if you could sing, in your listening church -
where candles thrill to their endings,
light’s brave lovers - gold carols
this dark Advent;
the hurt heart hearkening:
Lo! He comes with clouds descending.
But there is the descant moon
over our scarred world, its cold, pure breve,
and you will sing to your child
on Christmas Eve.