Trophy Hunters

 Musings on Trophy Hunting

Twice a year from days of old
Some arm themselves to seek a prey
Mid snows of winter in ice and cold
They seek the jolly elf to slay.

In spring when dafodils appear
The prey is changed but not the game
'Tis time for braves to trophies take
Of colored eggs and bunnies tame.

It matters not that elves and such
Have long ago been overcome
Remain as children's games and sport
To gain the funds: Grandpop and Mom.

"Tis dangerous to the spirit it seems
When children's games are thus engaged
Elves and buns and colored eggs
Must not take place at center stage.

'Tis best to dye our vanity of faith
To make it seem to reek God's Glory;
Better yet, to fill the church
With painted Christs and carv-ed saints

To spend the nights with lighted screen
To laugh with fornication and lust
To join with those that mock the faith
And castigate the faithful and the just.

Far better 'tis than eggs and buns
To garnish thus the cross of Christ
And gild it with the finest gold
To hide the blood of precious price.

To strain at gnats and dead men's idols
To lodge in Vanity and Babylon
To seek the praise of men and gods
By waging war in Tinytown.

"'Tis for the children," chant the brave
All the time they avoid the font
The promise of God to bless their child
By the Spirit of God, the gift of Christ.

Instead, the offering of eggs and elves
Of tiny bunnies to remove the wrath;
So much expected of so little
A pinch of anise; then down the path.

"But we have left all, to follow Christ!'
"All?" said the Master. "Is that really all?
Do I care about bunnies and eggs and elves;
Should not the dead bury the dead?"