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Say there's neither Santa Claus nor God
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Eight days of light require eight days of oil. All humankind is rich, recycled sod
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Souls can't shuffle off this mortal coil. One longs for a community of spirit Not based on faith in something mystical
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And by love of life, as we must live it, Gift that is itself a miracle
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Reason seems to one most reasonable, Even though there's much it can't explain
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Embracing faith seems inconceivable, The act of prayer seems poignant but inane
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In such a case, one joins a non-church church, Needing for one's spiritual search, Grace
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that comes from the pursuit of good, Shared with those who will the world one would