So as the crocked slave will walk in the ways of malice.
So also the priest will know discernment of grace.
To embers that burn underbrush to upturn strength.
The roots of the evergreens whilst still remain intact.
The charcoal of autumn’s death lay at winter’s hand.
Only the truest of shoots endure to bloom in spring.
Oh, incumbent rot of morn, noon till twilight’s notice.
The brightest beam to shine does blind these eyes.
Narrow is their sight to pass through the gales, wind.
Hold onto thine own strength as tomorrow draws nigh.