aefenglommung (aefenglommung) wrote,
aefenglommung
aefenglommung

The Song of the Children

The world is ours till sunset,
Holly and fire and snow;
And the name of our dead brother
Who loved us long ago.

The grown folk mighty and cunning,
They write his name in gold;
But we can tell a little
Of the million tales he told.

He taught them laws and watchwords,
To preach and struggle and pray;
But he taught us deep in the hayfield
The games that angels play.

Had he stayed here for ever,
Their world would be wise as ours --
And the king be cutting capers,
Adn the priest be picking flowers.

But the dark day came: they gathered:
On their faces we could see
They had taken and slain our brother,
And hanged him on a tree.

-- G.K. Chesterton
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