Quicksand
So innocent, no warning given
A surface so level and alluring
An easy path through briars and bracken
To weary feet the way does beckon.
A long and tiresome journey
Wishing greener hills to see
Setting out with a compass true
A clear trail below the sky above so blue.
With steady cadence and energy aplenty
Stride after stride marks the progress
A measured pace that gobbles up the miles
Making light of the journey’s trials.
An open glade, free of all entanglements
Appears before this lonely traveller
Beckoning with promises to hasten
This last and final stretch to lessen.
Ah, but for this, just one misstep
From a path so clearly drawn for you
A faltering foot leads from the trail
Sinks or’e a boot withdrawn to no avail.
Unseen hands reach up to firmly grasp
This unwary treasure to take it down
To mix with jumbled bones of others
Drawn into the miry trap that smothers.
Quicksand, this water-laden patch of ground
Seems set to drag another victim down
To wrap wet clinging arms more firmly round
And claim another traveller home-ward bound.
By fate, by chance or God’s good providence
A traveller passing by has seen the struggle
Who who sees his duty clear
Extending a hand and offering aid draws near.
A near thing which might have gone this way or that
But for the grace of this passing lone Samaritan
Both breathe a sigh, gaze round the land
And consider the vagaries of sand.
