First Candle
When the first candle on the wreath is lit
We feel the ancient, familiar tension
Between contending aspects of anticipation,
Our necessary penitence and joyful expectation.
The struggle for silence in the crowded day,
The extraordinary bulk and thrust of temptation
To squeeze the penitence and anticipate
The holy night before its time has come:
And when the morning, ideally decked in snow,
Deflates the hyperbole of desire
Even the most well chosen gifts will fade
But the child will grow into a saviour.