The Shrinking Seraph
Donald P. Goodman III
Version 1.0,
E'er smaller shrinks the seraph, slighter slides the soul,
a life e'er lesser than the present that has passed;
translucent, almost an illusion; to the last
a man so minor, holding half the normal whole;
amassing misery, and thinking how to thole,
his pleasure waning, waxing pain, and no repast
and no repose or peace or feast, but only fast,
in frigid, freezing forest, dry and desert hole.
And ever lower, ever lesser, lover true,
a lover of the least, he knows that he is naught
and needs decrease so that another can accrue;
embrace the wretched, rise to what the Workman wrought!