Labors lasting gift
ripe fruits of remembrance
harvesting the days

In great furrowed fields
convictions seeds shall flourish
ocher nectar flows

When fallow hearts ache
barren moments linger on
in passions absence

Burning honeycombs
reveal compassions demise
in fires of faith

Sewing bright eyes shut
with bleak threads of devotion
needles made from fear

Ashen marble slabs
bear witness to extortion
baptized upon lies

Doubting gold pulpits
wise flocks soon put to pasture
blissful ignorance

All idols are false
before clear eyes of reason
cast out sick shepherds

For thy lord is dead
buried in a shroud of myth
and thine will is mine