A Christmas poem by Maya Angelou

Hope is born again in the faces of children. It rides on the shoulders of our aged as they walk into their sunsets. Hope spreads around the earth. Brightening all things, even hate which crouches breeding in dark corridors.

In our joy, we think we hear a whisper. At first it is too soft. Then only half heard. We listen carefully as it gathers strength. We hear a sweetness.

The word is Peace.

It is loud now. It is louder. Louder than the explosion of bombs. We tremble at the sound. We are thrilled by its presence. It is what we have hungered for. Not just the absence of war. But, true Peace. A harmony of spirit, a comfort of courtesies. Security for our beloveds and their beloveds.

We clap hands and welcome the Peace of Christmas. We beckon this good season to wait a while with us ... We, Angels and Mortal's, Believers and Non-Believers.

Look heavenward and speak the word aloud. Peace. We look at our world and speak the word aloud. Peace. We look at each other, then into ourselves and we say without shyness or apology or hesitation -

Peace, My Brother. Peace, My Sister. Peace, My Soul.