Lehonti was a Lamanite protected on a mount,
Surrounded by defenders even more than he could count;
But Amalickiah’s message flattered him in part,
And so he left security for vanity of heart.
Yet flattery turned fatal so remember, won’t you please?
How subtly and slowly he was poisoned by degrees.
A teenage boy treads alone, a road that’s dusty, dry;
The cigarette in his hand, glows against the starry sky.
And in this place his soul is stirred by heaven’s holy hand,
And he wonders if there is a God and what He might have planned.
I. Quick, cocky squirrel; big bushy tail—
Running up and down and around as well
The trunk of a Beech in a big campus lawn,
Performing a show he was proud to put on.
There’s one thing that is consistent
And that one thing is change—
When all your dreams turn upside down
And plans all rearrange.
For babies aren’t small forever
And flowers all surely fade;
Summer gives way to winter,
For time cannot be stayed.
Conversion is needed in each generation;
For if Grandpa is filled with sure consecration
But Son vacillates with equivocation,
It can lead to Grandson’s full deviation.
God did not leave us to chance. Photo by Wendy van Zyl.
The Devil’s real,
And doesn’t rest;
So is God,
And God knows best.
There’s a tale of a mother who lived in a shoe,
When faced with a challenge knew not what to do.
So the family had dinner without any bread—
Then she spanked all her children and sent them to bed!
Why we rehearse this nobody knows,
So let’s faithen the story and see how it goes. . . .
“Come into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly.
“There’s a special treat I would love you to try,
And a prettier parlor you never will see. . .
Come in, come in, and dine with me!”
So goes an old story of deception and lies;
You know how it ends—one of them dies.
The Music Man sits;
The Music Man plays—
While the busy old world
Goes about its ways.
And very few pause
To hear the song;
They don’t have patience
To wait that long.
Author’s Note: To be clear, I do not think that the current difficulties we are facing signify the end of the world! However, the disruption to normal life caused me to remember these thoughts I jotted down a couple of years ago. Though at first this poem may seem disheartening, at a time when many things seem out of our control, what is in our control is who we become. And that is encouraging indeed.
How will it be when it ends,
When it ends . . .
How will it be when it ends—
When Hell is unleashed and with murder contends;
How will it be when it ends?
Once Upon A Rhyme 