There’s a coin on the ground,
It’s lost, but now found,
But swarmed on all sides by a crowd,
Surrounded on all sides by the crowd.
Please, you stepped on it, go left,
My treasure’s your defective step,
Just move out of the way, let me, let,
Me just reach out and grab this present.
Timid little child crowded by wild,
Angry, smart men and women in full stride,
They step on small fingers, carry on with pride,
Grinning, they grin while they stomp on his cries.
Anger, anger, they’re preaching,
But desp’rate, the child continues reaching,
“Don’t let them near you,” is all that they’re teaching,
But stomping, they grin, only the tall receive healing.
But when his little fingers brushed the coin,
The entire crowd turned tail and joined,
Like vultures, the flock swarms the small boy,
And choking, they strip him, devoid him of joy.
Throw up the labels: “Avoid this small boy.”
Start self-defending, say “It’s our employ.”
Start again from the back of the pack,
That treasure was too great to give back,
So much more like a feast than these snacks,
He’ll search it again while they have heart attacks.
All the way, the little boy says,
“You may kill me,” when they slay,
And “I forgive you,” every day,
And he gets angry in the haze,
It’s unfair, they call him names,
But he won’t quit, no sir, no way,
That treasure is waiting, real faith to belay.
So step on my coin,
But don’t pretend to join
Unless you really point
To the Father through His Son.