(Picks up from Light the Wreath)
In dark we stand about a candle slim.
We light this Advent taper in caves deep,
in castles old and forests bold. Though dim
it stands this tiny flame to ward of sleep.
We keep the watch and wait for the promise.
In monasteries, the brothers’re chanting.
Everyone’s waiting for the one promised.
In Shayari, purple stones are glowing,
in wreaths ringed around it, families are
praying. They wait for the promise to come
and his light shine, banishing the darkness there.
For that promise they’ll wait, do kind acts from
from the heart’s wish to aid, to stoke that flame
to a roaring fire; so the world, it claims.
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