I

See how the snow succumbs
To the breath of the wind.

Not because it wants to, but because it sees no choice.

II

On this snowy morning, there was a child,
Two children, in fact, and there might have been three, though there easily
Could have been only one, if one only glanced at them
And didn’t care to really look.

The world was theirs.

Who do you want to be?
They would ask each other this.
And each would answer.
And then, for the next couple of hours,
Their voices,
Their minds
Were truth.

And this was acceptable.
The wind watched.
“They’re learning,”
It said.
“They will learn.”

Fidgety, misbehaved children,
So uncontent in school and church,
So ready to run giddily away
At inappropriate times.

Oh, if you could only see
The moral paragons they become
On their adorable little battlefield.

They interrupt prayers and lessons.
They refuse to learn. They never learn.
They will not learn.

They do everything wrong.
Even in their games.

III

You would always play with me,
But now you refuse, because
Games are too young for you.
I pull you out of bed and
You moan that you want to sleep.
Sleep will come later.
Play will come now,
While the snow still falls.
The snow is soft now;
Come.

This she cries:
What was before will not be again.
‘Twas a brief moment.

A thousand dragons lined up on a hillside,
And only two to fight them all.

Never childish. These games are
Never childish. They’re our unique
Stories, they are

Always childish. Those games were
Always childish. They were pointless,
Purposeless, drab.

It’s unarguable.
We’re both beyond that now.
You know it.

Why do you hide?
Why do you hide?
Why do you hide?

IV

The dragons had been easily slain before,
The strength with which one’s sword
Plunged into a dragon’s neck determined by
The vividness of a single scale.

Now the dragons only stand smugly, asking,
“And what do you know of dragons?”

Dragons breathe fire.
Dragons are large.
Dragons are greedy.
Dragons eat people.
Dragons are generally unpleasant.

“Good job. You know a lot about dragons,”
Says the grinning face,
Just before swallowing the warrior
In a single gulp.

“Does Jesus love me?”
“Jesus loves all good little boys and girls.”

His throat contracts as he remembers:
His sister is with Jesus now.
His only regret:
He hadn’t played her games.
His games.

“She died peaceably, in her sleep.”

The small wind against which
His sister walked
Was suddenly replaced
By another.

Now he sits quietly in church
And pays attention in class.
Why not? Besides,
It’s all

Child’s play.