The Turf Labyrinth at Saffron Waldon
by Janice D. Soderling
Stout-hearted children rush into the maze.
Little they know of beginnings and ends.
Soon they‘ll discover new serpentine ways.
They never have heard of the traveller who prays
that culs-de-sac capture and hold the fierce winds.
Stout-hearted children rush into the maze.
And never they question the treacherous praise
lavished on fools by the schemes of false friends:
soon they’ll discover new serpentine ways.
A puzzle at midnight, a riddle of days,
the Minotaur lurks where the passageway bends.
Stout-hearted children rush into the maze.
Lies and rash vows, wild hearts in a blaze;
wars and grim paybacks, but who comprehends?
Soon they’ll discover new serpentine ways.
Thoughtless, they hurry through shortening days.
They blunder and blubber among the dead-ends.
Soon they’ll discover new serpentine ways.
Stout-hearted children rush into the maze.
