OXFORD HOLY RIDDLE

Gold stone from Cotswold  quarries men brought

And built into a way of life for those who bought

Their lives so cheaply,And did not see

The  children’s eyes ,the ball,.the game ,the tree

Of life that grew in small backyards and gave all

To those who climbed into its arms

Why should this not be you?

Oh,Eden,I see that you are nearer now

In lowly homes where love is free

Than in the temple, grove,and soft set brow

Of those who worship God in churches built of gold.

Now we can see that this is easy to behold

When sun is setting,and escapes the ashes

Thrown up and floating in the watches

Of the days of voter’e eyes cast up to skies

and , wondering fearful, what will come

when all the secret deals are done.

So take the gold of life and let it fall

Into your children’ s growing souls

And let this holy town and spires

Melt into sunset’s glowing orange fires.

I welcome comments and criticism

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