Hail, holy night of darkness increasing:
Night’s rising tide lessens both dusk and dawn.
Sparrows warble warning without ceasing,
“Listen! Mosquitos died, crickets are gone!”
Only honey-bees, secure in their hive,
beat wings slightly slower than angels do,
to aid and comfort their queen and her brood.
Clever handprints prove raccoon’s still alive.
He left bent blades of crash at morning dew
while going to watch blue kingfisher dive.
Minnows brim ponds yet winnow their schools;
will instinct remember, beneath first ice?
How much mortals appear but callow fools,
who wring legerdemain profit from device
with gears so minute, that ten thousand years
will not grind a beak to perfection’s whim,
nor lathe a brain to know its own design,
nor sculpt an ear to know all truths it hears.
Bright wheeling stars open when sunsets dim,
and only mortals think they do align.
Gather up your ghosts, who stand in darkness,
and name the strengths they gave you to the Light.
Some stir up fear, being rash and reckless,
yet why beware of illusory fright?
These are giants, whose shoulders support us,
generations of elders, guiding our way:
Family, Heroes, Nameless gathered ’round.
Their storied deeds both shape and refine us,
So let us call these hopeful ghosts today,
and claim this Earth they haunt as sacred ground.