“And there are none that do know the true God save it be the disciples of Jesus, who did tarry in the land until the wickedness of the people was so great that the Lord would not suffer them to remain…

But behold, my father and I have seen them, and they have ministered unto us.”

Moroni, writing in Mormon 8:10-11, The Book of Mormon

Round about Cumorah go,
where ten-thousands cower. Lo,
awful fear they sweat in drops.
Dust our feet of withered crops.
Fell the trees where evil hung.
Let their fruit be heaped as dung.

Sober child, march defiled;
fair will fall before the wild!

Ones who gain by witchcraft’s hand,
ones who join a thieving band—
watch your fine things canker fast,
now your day of grace is past.
Those who fight with vengeful lust,
rebel minds, be trod in dust!
Taste, like Laban, steel on breath;
make your bones vouch second death.

Sober child, march defiled;
fair will fall before the wild!

Vindicate Abinadi,
Nephi’s plates, and Samuel’s cry:
by the wicked, wicked slain;
filthy souls in filth remain.
Hide up tales which harrow men;
write for remnants gathering in.
Bind the Gentile to the Jew.
Warn the reapers while they sow.
Seal the greater things you know:
how delightsome families, gathered,
now turn dark and loathsome, scattered.

Sober child, march defiled;
fair will fall before the wild!

Called by Nephites beating drums,
look, the general Mormon comes!

Hey, kid—you know we’ll always be their kids; that’s just how it works—I see your ageless brothers are keeping you on task. That’s fine. But the thing is, I was watching Mom earlier. She was looking down at all this. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t need too. The words came through the expression in her eyes: “So many buildings. So very many buildings. It’s like the people are forgetting the land beneath them.” Mormon, you tend to get caught up in the whole judgment-seat thing. Always remember parents give hugs too. And whatever happens on that hill, never forget Mom loves every last person in the fight.

Poet’s Notes:

This poem is patterned after the Song of the Witches: “Double, double toil and trouble” from Macbeth, by William Shakespeare. It is the third in my Keystone Reflections series, focused on the Book of Mormon. You can also read the following:

The featured image is licensed from iStock.