A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring confusion, old age, and symptoms of the flu
While taking out the garbage and keeping the walk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here -- and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithful, hopeful, into the dark
And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.