Poinsettia,
Amaryllis,
December rose,
Their beauty blooms
Unexpectedly
At Christmastime.
They seem to echo
The glad tidings
From long ago
Of the birth of a child
Who would become,
For many,
A shining light
In the darkness
Of their lives;
Like Him,
They are each
A thing of beauty
To behold
With the heart;
To savor quietly,
Thoughtfully,
Their vibrant
Proclamations of hope
In a time
When all else
Has fled
In the face
Of death.
They proclaim,
In silence,
That there is life,
And there is joy,
To be found
In the darkest
Of times
And in the most desolate
Of places;
They are God's expression,
His promise,
Of rebirth
At a time
When least expected.
Then we, too, will bloom
As things of beauty
In an ugly world;
We, like they, will be
His harbingers
Of hope;
Our souls,
Through our eyes
And our actions
Iridescent color
In a gray,
Cold,
Unforgiving
World.