The only way it's not guaranteed is when it's in God's hands.
He's the ruler of all plans.
But if left to me alone.
I want you to know.
I'll be yours forever.

Quick, to speak about things that don't concern us.
Quick to jump to the defense of others from attack.
But in all these circumstances.

Apparently, someone forgot to tell you this.
I love you.
I love you for all your ways.
Yes, attitude and all.

Someone forgot to tell you apparently.

Secretly, they always existed.
Even when we first met.
And in was blinded in various ways.

Then again, like many has stated or said.
I simply turned my head to it.
And now selectedly wants to refer to them.

Without comprehending that apparently, someone forgot to tell you.
I love you.
And that someone was me.

Never mistake the fake for real;
Hard truths, for lack of loving.
The genuine need no introduction,
And we reserve anger only for what we care about.

Never love without reason, many ills must be borne
Because of impatience or indifference.
Respect your heart to give it space;
The truth, for room for breathing.

That night was cold and dry as we gathered in the park.
Someone, I don’t know who, lit the first candle in the dark.
The dark mass of the Dakota was ever in our view,
as we joined to mourn John Lennon in small groups of ones and twos.

They kept us from the crime scene where John’s blood still stained the stones.
He was gunned down by some lunatic who’d acted all alone.
John was groaning, barely conscious, when Cops got him in their car
He died there in the back seat before they’d gone too far.

I heard somebody singing, in a strong clear baritone,
the lyrics of “Imagine”; John’s song that’s so well known.
Other voices swelled the chorus, singing loud and long.
What prayer could not accomplish we would try to do with song.

I went back to visit recently to show my children where
Their Dad stood vigil in the park back when he had long hair.
Strawberry Fields forever, the name they call this green,
where greying fans still gather to sing, to mourn, to dream.

A candle in the window is a warm and welcome sign
of an accommodating spirit with a thirst for the Divine.
Our ancestors lit candles in the Ireland of our past
To let a persecuted Padre know that there he could say Mass.
Our native tongue was under siege and in time was nearly lost
as the Crown tried to grind Ireland down no matter what the cost.
We are a charming people, sweet and witty are our ways,
stubborn in our faith that man is most uncommon clay.
So on this coming Christmas Eve before the feast begins
Put a candle in the window and welcome Jesus in.