The Sun of December

From the high mountain
I somersaulted in to the deep
Broken and shattered
Holding my tears yet took I to weep

Burbles and splashes of hopelessness
Stormed my voyage
Sinking ship of faithlessness
Forged dry dirge

A dirge that touched the dead
Pattering dew on my battered limbs
Unburdening my burden, heavier than lead
Cooling my head that screams and steams

I nearly buried my hope
Till the sun of December smiling
Rays of hope outshine the dark night
I picked my fallen sword and toiling

This day is not for dirge again
May I fix my limb and my being
To debut the hymn of Shepherds' praise
With the New Baby will I be singing
HAPPY CHRIST'S MONTH