Seasons of the System

August 11, 2010
Against the flow,
Against the flow,
The autumn winds continue to blow,
But a radiant red maple leaf does go,
Against the flow,
However slow.

The wind and rain,
The wind and rain,
Continue, if only for their selfish gain,
Continue their moaning, the tears of their pain,
The wind and rain;
They cannot stain.

The tide does pull,
The tide does pull,
Ever raging and vicious as a bull,
Calms into a strangely peaceful lull,
The tide does pull,
Its pull now dull.

Unable to win,
Unable to win,
The river continues as it did begin,
Choosing to, yes, its blood red with sin,
Unable to win,
Past due, done in.

The falling snow,
The falling snow,
But the maple leaf has not been slow,
Is already gone when fire and sulfur-storm blow;
The falling snow,
Destruction's glow.

And from the smoke rise,
And from the smoke rise,
New flowers, new trees, and a new earth cries,
With joy with the new river of peace of its eyes,
And from the smoke rise,
The fruits of our tries.

Thus begins the spring,
Thus begins the spring,
With n'one lacking a single thing,
Old ashes removed, the new world does sing:
"Thus begins the spring;
Christ Jesus is King!"

Never again,
Never again,
Will anyone even remember that sin.
Death or dirt or fire within,
Is never again;
Life can only begin.





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