The Holy Gift
By Bill Olson (Originally titled “The Field of Wheat and Weeds”) © 2005 William David Sherman Olson
From each fine corner of this Earth Marched brethren honoring the Birth. By air they took across the sea From evil and iniquity, To kindle fires long left cold And reach for hands that each could hold. They gathered in the Holy Land, Listening to a Christian band. They sang songs and shared in prayer, And toured ruins everywhere. And Israeli soldiers they’d all thank For confiscating the West Bank. But as the wheat grew tall and gilt And voices sung the hymns with lilt, A weed grew from the nearby sand And pollen blew across the land, Thus finding our brave party there Taking in the hot night air. And then the days of light and cheer Of lifting sword, forsaking fear, And resurrecting ev’ry soul, Did pass from each one’s daily goal. For baby’s diapers needed change, And in-law’s coming was in range. But then our pollen, don’t forget, A magic fabric was to knit. But warmth its host was not to find; Its benefit was in the mind: A cloak of second sight he’d gain As treasure that would help him reign. And so, as life was slowing down And daily pressures did surround Our graduates of that Fine Day, Their smiles would now fade away. But from the cooling dusk did come The pollen’s wealth in total sum. It started at a little church Near Old Wisconsin’s shining birch. When Herbert Johnson heard a voice; He thought it was the Good Lord’s choice, So knelt and prayed while all his kin Stood up repenting deadly sin. But that fine voice that Johnson heard As soft as songs from any bird, Was not the words the Lord had spoke But just a child near the oak Who missed the sermon, being late, So stood outside, to test his fate. But that was just the early one, For Johnson then could hear his son. And then the neighbor’s mind came through And other voices from the blue. But Johnson – he was not alone, With powers he himself did own. For others, if you will recall, Had breathed the pollen one and all, When they were in the Holy Land And reaching out to God’s strong hand. So now the wealth distributed Would reveal the mighty Id. So now it’s time to change the rhyme Since pollination forced the globe To change relations over time: Our false pretenses did disrobe As private thoughts went on display On which the brethren now could pray. But play, they did, as if some game, That they felt they could never lose. A holy life had been the aim, A lofty goal they couldn’t refuse. They owned the board, so they believed, And all non-Christians were bereaved. So all the folks from that Fine Trip Of brotherhood and holy song, Could now read minds as though one’s lip But failed to know that it was wrong. And just as they were thanking God, An atheist received His rod. They couldn’t figure it at all, Why God would grant an atheist This blessèd gift in thanks for all When he would not be on the List Of souls to live eternally: The place where Christians ought to be. But he was not far from that site Where pollen drifted from their flowers. So, many thought he saw the light And would ascend the Ivory Towers Where many Christians could not go, Since reading minds they did not know. So now confusion and mistrust Had spoiled what had ere been praised. And with the settling of the dust Even Christians were amazed, At how our rights were being tested, And in whose trust those rights now rested. Then Leslie Wold had raised a storm By claiming someone had offended Her, with thoughts outside the norm Of Christian life that God defended. Thus she brought a man to court Whose name was Lincoln Allemort. But when ol’ Lincoln was triumphant, War was ready to engage: Leslie threatened Lincoln’s infant In her blind and hasty rage. So quick solutions were now needed Ere all peace and love receded. And so a cure was promptly found By someone without second sight. But Leslie fought to hold her ground. While thinking hers a moral right. But walls were all but closing in So gun and swordplay would begin. And people died in Leslie’s war To keep that pollen’s Holy Gift. But something else was now in store, To open up a greater rift Between what some would think is right And all the sin it would incite. And that was when the Brethren sought Another way to hold their ground: To find the pollen that had wrought The Gift so many now had found, And send it out to everyone; The Good Lord’s work would then be done. With winter came that desperate act Of tossing pollen to every nose, To share their gift with heathens, in fact, And make this history about to close. And everybody breathed it in And wondered where this Glory had been. Motion stopped and rifles fell Now world peace was safe and well As every mind became as one: The pollen’s quilt at last was done. Control was lost of each Human Cell; Starvation swept them all to Hell. THE END St. Paul, Minn. Oct. 1, 1993 |