Dancers: fleeting green 'midst breeze,
Worth but the spoils man perverts.
Lions dance on concrete paths;
How pure their roots, O Son of Man?
I measure death with every glimpse.
How fallen to perceive in't life
When left for refuse, iron parks,
Vacation summers, "Golden Years."
Come, 'nigh, O righteous Father! As the
Butterfly from hanging womb,
Appropriate the paths gold!
-Tod Kreider
1 comment:
I don't think I understand enough of it to make intelligent comment.
But I really like the last part. It feels like the first two stanzas are talking about the world being fallen and I guess harsh in a way but then we can, somehow, by God's grace, escape that to the "paths gold."
So that's what I got after reading through it three times.
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