Unmute

  
 Slowly rising back I make
    the choice to scrape for might
 and gather this impov'rished heart
    to find the will to write.
  
 The year took all our breath away, 
    took measures from our time.
 It stopped our voices, held our throats
    and bruised our sense of rhyme.
  
 While many sanguine shouts are praised
    to spur us through this year,
 we crave for more than vapid prompts,
    for something true and clear.
  
 And we can hold to greater hope
    than January's slate:
 a day that though we know not when,
 will surely come with CHRIST and then
 the hope that's certain, brought to sight
 will be all ours, with no more night
    and not a minute late. 
  
 And so we rise to face the work
    for we should be remiss
 if we were not to forward hope
    from final day to this.
  
 Now strengthen we our eyes and hearts
    that through the darkest days
 we yet will love and work and write
    and give our Saviour praise.