The Winding Road

Upon the fire,
Logs are wamly glowing,
Burning the past year away,
No time for tears,
No time for introspection,
At this beautiful time of the year.

Day by day
We grow slowly older
And live despite our fears.
Who knows the way?
It's in the eye of the beholder.
At this beautiful time of the year.

Within the church,
Choirs are softly singing
Hymns and carols anew.
Can it be true,
The promise of salvation?
At this beautiful time of the year.

Up in the sky,
Stars are brightly shining,
Spurning the passing of time:
A light divine?
It shows the way we're travelling,
At this beautiful time of the year.

- Thomas Hewitt Jones