The Celebrant

There onee was a man
who liked especially well to celebrate things.

He placed reindeer on his Christmastime roof, and lit them with big lights, and sang mcny carols, and hung out his stocking.

And he stood in Times Square on New Year’s Eve, and watched the globe descend, and sang “Old Lang Syne,”
and made many fervent resolves.

He remembered George and Abe,
reflecting on their greatness,

And bought his wife a big heart—shared box of candies to profess his Valentine’s love;

March 17, of course, he marched down 5th Avenue with the “Wearing of the Green,”

And was on hand faithfully to help Christ out of the grave at the Hollywood Bowl annually singing “Hallelujah!”

With a tear of pride, and a sparkler in his hand, he sang “God Bless America” under the July night,

And handed out sacks of treats to neighborhood goblins who dared to brave the wicked, glowing Jack-o on his porch;

Before cutting the November turkey, he asked the Lord’ s blessing at harvest—gathering, and counted his debts; then it was no time till Christmas again~

But of course there was also Father’s Day, and Mother’s Day, and the birthdays with their presents, cakes, and candles;
and Church on Sunday, with the Holy Eucharist renewed, and an occasional wedding, and an occasional funeral,

and yet, yet, there were other days, which seemed to be most of the time somehow, which were nameless, nothing, noxious days, on which not a single person he knew had born or died or done
anything at all worth celebrating.
Those were the rough ones, the everyday clothes ones, the real ones.