A Carol for Fall

The air feels so brittle 
And the wind has a bite. 
The night’s a tad longer, 
The days are so bright.  

Wind moaning low 
Of sin, suffering, and loss,
"Long lay the world" 
Waiting oncoming frost. 

Like leaves falling, 
The old story’s calling: 
The one of the babe, 
Of manger to grave. 

Of feet worn and weary, 
Of face set like flint, 
Of heart soft and teary, 
Of will never bent,

Of strength set aside, 
Of humanity put on, 
Of deity in stride, 
Of the cross where He died. 

Of the grave burst apart,
Of the light pouring out, 
Of freedom the song, 
And salvation the shout!

But for now…

Just the moaning 
Of the wind in the trees 
And my quiet knowing 
That He’s coming…

For me.