A Garland

  Now I drape the mantle and dress the newel post for December with hemlock. The white pine yellowed with summer’s drought or my neglect. I never planted heather as planned, and won’t buy it from Kroger’s flower counterby some rule of thrift I don’t remember. “Best” or “festive” comes as long stretch in aseason of lost jobs and hard credit, andcries to repair cities fest’ring in ruin and family farms withering. I deckonly a hall, not myself, with garland —requiem to diminished or dimmed hopes. Yet lingers that larger dream, long command, grand stage — to mend, by flow of tide and tidings,wounds of justice undone, bondage hard-spent,  griefs long-borne; to spill mirth and pour mercy,bedeck winter-scape in garish garland of morn, when God spades and works and wakens buried ash, and tends cosmic fields seeded in right and grace, to which I too that dawn shall beawakened and garlanded with the rest. William R. Leety is pastor of Overbrook Church in Columbus, Ohio.