The crafty rebel
slinks through the land

his wings are crooked
by the faith

of children.

Weak is the rebel,
who is the swift shade

upon the beautiful earth
under the weeping tree,

the darkened side of the hills,
and the coldness in the dirt.

The rebel owns all that is cold
where the shady children play,

but that is insignificant to
the many glowing children

that dance under the wholesome sun.

For the rebel sees
the children are heated

from their passionate dance
under

their father's warmth,

he offers comfort,
and many twisted amenities

to the children
of the earth.

Those whose dance is not with

fulfillment in their Father

become inclined to fall away

from his beautiful rays upon his land.

But those who dance, with pure hearts

sing the joys of why they dance.

And the falling children not only dance now,
but also sing under the sun

knowing that the night will come,
and all that is good

shall rest.