Lost in the silent groves of his beard <br />we pray to the god of this forest: <br />how is it fair that we wander alone <br />our sleeves tucked into this cold? <br />So far we've come, stones and bread-crumbs <br />look alike. The path behind <br />fills up with stinging nettles; our voices <br />grow cracked with crying. If a witch <br />should find us now, we know <br />our flesh and bones would go <br />for bread in her ovens. <br /> <br />Only tell us what fault was ours <br />that god should have made us children <br />to wander in the beard of his displeasure.<br /><br />Brian Purdy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-children-lost/
