Thank goodness.
People were gathering,
With full eskies, foldout chairs,
Or blankets on the drying grass.
Small children as diminutive Santas,
Tinselled elves or barefoot Christmas Angels,
Ran about squealing with excitement.
This ritual, repeated in the daylight-saved twilight,
Of each small town across the country.
Is about to begin here, in my town.
Our choirmaster, in readiment, lifts his arms for the first up-beat.
Then booming out across the lawn our combined acapella.
"Joy to the World the Lord is come!"
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