CAMPIN’ IN CHICAGO
ADVENT – THE WAIT November ends, Winter pretends She’s harsher than
We think. She blows us to Mass, Where ringed in green grass, Are purple And one candle, pink. Purple is lit, We kneel then we sit. The waiting has now Just begun. Four weeks, we will fast, ‘Till waiting is past And winter will Dress for the Son. A ball gown of white
To all our delight And trimmed With an evergreen fir. Holly with berries. Her lips like red cherries. All mens’ eyes will Fall upon her. But winter December Remembers November,
When harsh, she Blew us to Mass. Where purple and pink, Recalled us to think Of the Hope
In their colored green grass. So winter’s gown blows In the wind, driven snows, Piling high,
Making paths between drifts. She’ll seduce us to go, Midnight Mass, In the snow,
All dressed for the Son and His gifts! http://tinyurl.com/mrfl8l
