Land Of Luther Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

Snowy hills and sheltered forests
Youngsters crossing icy lakes
Figurines of chubby angels
Dusted sugar on round cakes

Kitchens in steamed preparation
Brimming bowls of spicy lumps
Men with frosty beards and eyebrows
Hewing logs on massive stumps

Clumsy feudal clogs on stockings
Cradling, warming weary feet
Plowing fields of cruel vassals
Daily pay - a little wheat

Long-tailed pheasants boast bright plumage
In he distance a brown hare
Passive oxen tug their burdens
Slowly panting wintry air

In a cobweb covered attic
Lies a finely crafted book
That a girl inclined to hiding
Finds and leafs with furtive look

There it is she finds a story
Of a rose that once burst forth
On a night in dead of winter
Born to light the icy north

Crumbling walls hide many secrets
In that land where Luther preached
Worshipers once hid their Bibles
While men fought religion's breach

Time passed and those daring theses
Once inflaming priests and kings
Thawed the frozen land to open
Hearts and eyes to freely sing

Even now rapt words from hymnals
Still resound with potent force
As the Father, mighty fortress
Shields the lowly with his sword

Luther's is a noble story
Told in history's thick books
Few today forgotten hymnals
Placed in hovels' darkest nooks

In that land where few things linger
Of those days so long ago
Did that youth who found the Bible
Secret readings soon outgrow?

Now gray-headed, she will enter
That long stream of centuries
Sprinkled with the songs of children
And blood shed on lands and seas

Tales of courage, wondrous stories
Are oft spun as campfires glow
Will that heart inclined to hiding
Still remember that small rose?