The year, not yet over, begins again

With its season ancient, yet ever new.

We circle the date, yet we know not when;

Church and trees bare, to uncloud our view.

The days are shortening, world and soul turn to night

Yet each week we see another wreath-flame;

Flickering, making promise, increasing light.

O Antiphons sing his holiest names.

Past, present, future the eternal hand holds

In this season of cosmic, kairos time.

In penitent purple our shame can be told;

Sweeping out sin to make way for the child.

And so with prophets and patriarchs waiting

We join Mary’s vigil, our own hearts aching.