Song Of Children Lost Poem by Brian Purdy

Lost in the silent groves of his beard
we pray to the god of this forest:
how is it fair that we wander alone
our sleeves tucked into this cold?
So far we've come, stones and bread-crumbs
look alike. The path behind
fills up with stinging nettles; our voices
grow cracked with crying. If a witch
should find us now, we know
our flesh and bones would go
for bread in her ovens.

Only tell us what fault was ours
that god should have made us children
to wander in the beard of his displeasure.