The child stood on the burning tree,
Laughing with many a tears.
- Mother—you can’t say it’s true what you see
‘Cause your child
his laughs only hears.
All dressed in furs, against the frozen fire—
He stood
with a paperback plane in his hand.
And your child’s only wish and desire
Are to fetch the pure safeness of flight
and therefore suspend
his dreaming loads onto the sky—
I know you stay there gasping, mother
And puffed I stay—but I
Figure out burning trees, and don’t bother—
Just by the Book, such burning bush is (in fact) icy cold
And it was meant for your child.
And I know the One Who traded
and Who sold
This kind of burning bushes
into the wild—
