a Christmas poem

 This is by Edwin Arlington Robinson (better known for Miniver Cheevy and Ruchard Corey). Apparently it's the last sonnet he ever wrote.

I guess in a way, since it was written in 1928, it's reflecting eternal feelings and problems, but I admit I feel this one especially hard right now:

While you that in your sorrow disavow
Service and hope, see love and brotherhood
Far off as ever, it will do no good
For you to wear his thorns upon your brow
For doubt of him. And should you question how
To serve him best, he might say, if he could,
“Whether or not the cross was made of wood
Whereon you nailed me, is no matter now.”

Though other saviors have in older lore
A Legend, and for older gods have died—
Though death may wear the crown it always wore
And ignorance be still the sword of pride—
Something is here that was not here before,
And strangely has not yet been crucified.

And yes, there's a lot in there. But I feel hard the "brotherhood farther than ever" and also, yes, I admit at times I grab that thorny crown and shove it down on my own brow because I want to fix things, and yet, I cannot, and I feel somehow I am guilty for not being more (and yet, at the same time, I feel I am too much in some other ways)

There's a short essay talking about the sonnet (and the personal experience of a friend of the essay writer) here.