xtian charity

our sentiments became a heavy yoke
under the cloud we wait for time to pass
and do not cherish fragile flowers of grass
spring gives us more than what's beneath the cloak
so much to do before we hear the stroke
the morning seems to us as clear as glass
and still our hearts are deep in the morass
we feared the storm for long before it broke
so now we listen for the sound of time
or else for music that announces fear
the background radiation of our season
we made our very hope into a crime
turned expectation into one more fear
and as our last salute forbidden reason