Hot Lava

The floor is hot lava, the furniture, stones
The ground is red magma with dinosaur bones
To cross it you must leap the gulch like a frog
Or scorch a big toe in the fiery bog

We played it in childhood and all of us knew
Apart from a ref and without much ado
The pathway to life was a narrow affair
We’d better adapt to or singe all our hair

O foolish adults! You can play by the rules
When it comes to the playground and recess at school
But you will not submit to God’s life-giving ways
Erupting calamities flow through your days

Do you prefer cinders for dinner at eight
Or volcanic ash on obsidian plates?
Of course not, my dear, let’s cross over this waste
Become like a child and a fountain you’ll taste

© Kurt Mähler

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  • Glenda Alford says:

    Love the poem, Kurt. I remember those playground rules. Some changed as the games went along.

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