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 the cold and also the flu,

Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk 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, faithfully, into the dark

And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.