Bright sun nudges me from my page,
opening a hole deep as the grave
in the worn carpet.
How can this season of joy
and wonder, innocent delight
be lived in such a time?
When death stops at so many doorways,
uninvited and rude,
taking the good from so many tables.
We light a candle,
keeping the darkness at bay.
It’s Advent in the time of covid.
thecourseofourseasons 
That’s a fine poem: sensitive, thoughtful and skilfully written. I’m glad to have read it.
Thank you, John. Your comments are always welcome and appreciated.