Somewhere, sometime, in the old East Lands,
in a spot relieved for four rivers, shadowed
by luxurious a garden, at royal a manor house,
by one saint sixth labor day, we awaken to life.
Made on the Creator’s likeness, by many years
we enjoyed His care and His love.
Once, on uncovering life secrets, like
good and evil, our ancestors were banished
having our Lord lock the Paradise Gate.
Since then, the hard and harsh of our toiling,
no one really knows, but You, our Creator.
How much longer will our penalty last?
When and where should we meet again?
Although heavy sternness demonstrated,
be aware many of us still venerate You,
and, some, still love.
We hope to see once more inhabited
that manor house where all has begun,
appeasing Your heart and retreating
some cherubims at the Paradise Gate.
Published in Dead Snakes, February 29, 2016.
Published in West Ward Quarterly, printed Spring issue 2017.