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.