By John Thomas Tuft

The night is very dark

The water is running high

What will become of us

If we forget how to cry?

If I am barely breathing

While reaching out for you?

Is there room on distant shores

For other children of Christmas, too?

No one has ever asked to be born

We think it sacred all the same

While dividing up all the space

Blind to the light of the candle flame.

Come down to the banks and kneel

Bathe in the muddy waters there

Slip your hand now inside of mine

Let the candle flame shine everywhere.