This parable of man
Though little that I am
Is written to rewrite
To return and bring thee to the light
A lady fair made black
I do not question what is clear
Mine own father was austere
Stranger waters still are rising
Wanton men are prophesizing
Saying Hear! Hear! Hear! To live, so live in fear!
Least ye hold thy destroyer dear
The tree that once had offered shade
Threatens, thought crooked and decayed
The cocoon rests beneath the leaf!
Was it from fear or from belief?
False suitors hath stolen thee away
To chase this new intenser day
The acorn may only grow the oak
Gods are of the golden yoke
Hath the wind too changed direction?
The rain no longer nurtures, but rather it does flood
Is it thy presence or thine absence?
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