The discarded flotsam of Christmas past,
Once festive red and green in its brightness,
Now turned brittle brown with age, by neglect, from abuse.
The shredded score of soaring notes,
Once holding the creative dreams of genius,
Now the beat is beaten, the pitch flattened, the song unsung.
The broken fantasy of love,
Once smiling families, consumed and corrupted
Now by hate-filled, hell-filled, horror-filled hearts.
The powerful touch of gentle, loving Hands
Once nail-pierced, still scarred,
Now working tirelessly to reclaim, transform, restore
[As only He can]