![Christingle, By: Melissa Dennison](https://i0.wp.com/poetrycatalog.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Christingle-By-Melissa-Dennison.png?resize=750%2C420&ssl=1)
hair brushed to a glossy sheen
navy uniforms smell of fresh ironing
one hundred hands cradle the world
flickers from the candles
shadows on Victorian stones;
wax slowly dripping
our voices rise to this occasion
rehearsed over and over in
the hall, which I enjoy
as dreaded maths is canceled.
Outside the world is
plunged into blackness
wrapping around me like
a close friend, this time
of year is magical,
yet I don’t stop or think
about the pretty
red ribbon
winding round.
In three month’s time
we will be celebrating death.
Why does love demand this sacrifice?