Crown of the Enemy

One causal cadence continues casting, Crawling, creeping, conniving, grasping, Graven, rotten, rude, deprived, Hatred, boiling, bursting, sly. This cadence is personified, the cause Is what leads men to die, the lack (it’s called) Is like a lie, Augustine wrote while ‘twas Close. Yet, and by grace yet, a slain Man’s cry To the Father makes men to fly, the Dove so free Chose each to be here personified anew. The wise can read, they sure can count, and well to do, And yet their days seem long as pouting from a babe. One to death and one to save. He (not Him) knows what men do and like to hear and can Construe. Watch keenly, for his unseemly breeding takes A chord and deprives it of color, this is his crown, and makes To the wise the young seem older, and have wit of a frown. Again, the wise know much if wise they’re true. Wisdom and knowledge are Not a synonym to surmise just as eagles to food. The enemy travels wide and far.