Thou snake, my serpent, beguiling me by my eyes,
Thou too shalt see thy death when looking to the skies.
That radiant bliss, all glorious and divine,
I shall not know, thou seller of my wine.
Drunken, I stumble to thee, asking for blunder.
Why do I do such foolish things, I wonder?
My hand reaches for that crimson cup,
But only venom do I feel, my blood corrupt.
The crafty caller of my misplaced desires
Has deceived me with soft-singing choirs,
Angelically playing those voices of light,
And I let the sirens sound and the serpent bite.
Why must thou plague me so,
Oh serpent of my woe?
Can tenderness be found in thee?
I dare not perceive it be.
Thy sole purpose is to drown my heart
By tainted fruits of the vines of earth,
Let nature see my Father’s worth
Who sent His Son to bruise the head
Of the creature who still would have me dead.
Serpent, thy weedish flower is withered,
So return to the place where thou once slithered.
Thy wine has no effect but disgust,
And thy venom only turns into dust.
I do not claim to understand His grace,
I simply know it is mine to fastly embrace.
So take thyself, bold serpent, back to the abyss,
For thou, such a traitorous one, I shall not miss.
-Austin Ward
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