So many of them
Small and clueless
They could not understand
They are loud and exhausting
See those with dirty faces
Black with white streaks showing summer sweat
Hands sticky and unwashed
Street rats with nothing interesting to offer
They start to crowd the master,
Interrupting him as he tells his stories
A world where men crowd to hear stories….
and the children are turned away
The stories stopped
A rebuke to those who turn children away from the stories
“Let the children come to me…”
The master turns away from the adults, and blesses the children.
The words to the adults are difficult to hear
Why must we become like the little children?
They are small, ignorant and powerless
Naked hearts, nothing hidden from view
Could I become like such as these again?
If I must, what is this kingdom of heaven?