Footsteps

The soft pitter patter of tiny little feet
The promise of joy amid life’s apparent defeat
Reaching up towards the sky but touching the ground
Even a child is a creature of earth, heaven bound

But the glory has departed from mankind’s stride
Punished to repeat an endless cycle ‘cause of pride
Sisyphus is not alone in his endless climb
Every work day tries to say that we’re captives of time

Man’s step is further abused in the march of war
Yet the soft steps made by night watchmen do preserve the poor
Soldiers caught in jungle, snow and other sorrow
Every day is the same if there is a tomorrow

Yet one man can march for all those in a sickbed
The last light of those who last saw English masses dead
Walks in his garden at his own determined pace
Making a mockery of the limits of time and space

And when Groundhog Day ends our hero’s earthly race
It is us constrained by time; he’s in a better place
The war’s last light will see the nations’ Light, we pray
The night is past; tomorrow will be a better day

For the new Sisyphus bore what we couldn’t pay
And in the fullness of time the stone was rolled away
The feet of Him that preached the gospel of peace
Were heard in the garden with glory that will not cease

 

Samuel Birch
Oatley, Sydney,
New South Wales