“Now this is living!” says the wasp, with wings outstretched in flight;
The small fig orchard, still and calm, is bathed in soft moonlight.
Against advice, given thrice, he ventured to this place;
“The old fool doesn’t know,” he mocks, in a quickened, defiant pace.
Besides, his friends were talking; and he wants to come and see—
The whispered nighttime mystery, rumored in this old tree.
Sin
Judgement
Author note: I know, this one is kind of depressing. I promise the next one will be lighter!
Walking through this frail existence
In our peaceful promised land,
We heedless see the warnings
And fail to understand.