One last, silvered leaf fails to fall
from its tree. A hard year’s winter
has frozen your voice.
You would still rejoice
if you could sing, in your listening church –
where candles thrill to their endings,
light’s brave lovers – gold carols
this dark Advent;
the hurt heart harkening:
Lo! He comes with clouds descending.
But there is the descant moon
over our scarred world, its cold, pure breve,
and you will sing to your child
on Christmas Eve.
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“Advent” appears in The Twelve Poems of Christmas: Volume Six, selected by Carol Ann Duffy (Candlestick Press, £4.95).
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