The Crown, the flight

The speed of a snail!
The crawling of a cheetah!
At the blast of the whistle,
They mounted up wings like the eagle,
And shod their feet like the horse,
The wind to them was like the clanging teeth of swords,
They mocked distance and flew on the wings of the wind.

Anxiety fuelled and propelled them on—they gingered.
They had claws so terrible,
Grips so wonderful,
Their eyes, their gaze were fixed with no divided focus.
The earth trembled!
Beasts of the field took cover,
Preys awashed with madness of fears and anxiety!

But then…
In their might,
In the productions and dissipations of their strengths,
In the aggressiveness of their hearts and
The agilities in their bones;
In the fountains of their wisdom and
In the smartness of their hearts—

Understanding flew away like a bird
Delivered from the snare of the fowler.
She flew to the top of the highest tree.
And then to the top of the highest mountain,
And then to the top of the highest of highest,
And then into the sky,
And then she sang—sweet melodies of victory.

The sons of pride have lost their crowns!
The cheetah has lost its prey,
Because he despised that little bird.
The crown is become illusive to the sons of pride;
It moves farther and farther from their reach.
They refuse to halt and ponder,
They are running out on fuel.

Their strength is going cold,
Behold…
The bird has descended on the snail!
Into the sky, she flies with him on her wings,
She catches up with the sons of pride,
She overtakes them,
She drops the snail at the finish line,
The crown descends on the snail—upon its head.

The speed of a snail!
The crawling of a cheetah!
The bird is Understanding!
The bird is Grace!
They refuse to understand it is by grace.

I am the snail,
Yet I have the crown of glory,
No grace, no crown! No grace, no glory