dies out in favor of the 1950s:
two-tone trees all white and
black as though the season caught
the moder-spirit-by-thine-advent-here—
Our Lord delivered on suburban lawn,
the Word became plastic and
made his dwelling among us.
But come, o come, Emmanuel—
to stable or suburban lawn, or
to the tune of trumpets blaring
through the rolled-back clouds.
Come, o come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive sylvan hills,
suburban lawn, and Israel.
Come, o come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive sylvan hills,
suburban lawn, and Israel.
