Christmas Future

I will always prefer that grace abounds
And land halo like upon our heads...
To make a heaven of the battlegrounds
Or re-purify our watersheds,
And whatever else it is grace will do
When ritual becomes a cold routine
As the darkest days of winter accrue...
When fortuity seems heartless and mean;

So much so, grace seems devoid of us;
Obstructed by December skies of gray
So very exponentially superfluous...
That we cannot tell if it's night or day!

But, that's why we must bedeck the trees,
To witness grace...abounding in reprise!