How can this loafer be a child of God?
Even a fallen leaf speeds to obey
the law which calls it down, but I delay
to think and hesitate, backtrack and plod,
however hard I try to smash my way
I bulldoze up a growing pile of rocks
to stretch, but not to break out of my box,
halting ever again, day after day.
      Even when most willed to work what I ought
      I glacier grind to dust the smallest things
      and ache and groan that I should be so caught:
      Make me an avalanche to wildly sing
      and roister down the slopes, unleashed and fraught
      to rush to God with all that I can bring.