When Christ Returns

Hazy are the clouds, like a nuclear winter
In the spring day, a yellow hue is on the horizon.
I walk in the brisk fifty degrees,
Up the familiar path, and am surprised
By the forest walking over yonder the hill...
I say to it, "The bees, they are coming out of their holes"
For only one or three days of the year
Do the bees peak out, and over the hillocks 
Fly in their immature bodies.
I am surprised by the sudden meeting and hazy
As the sky above, for so it will be like when Christ and I meet
Surprised, and suddenly, and without warning.
I'd rather be looking at the bees, than gesticulating
At my enemies around me, wishing to curse and cause a stir;
Or beating Christ's fellow servants
When I am surprised by that chance meeting
And then the haze lifts, and the sun becomes seven times brighter:
Yes, I'd rather not know what to say, and be studying the bees.
I do not wish to be a chicken aside the road,
And scared to approach Him, knowing I'd been doing wrong;
For the Bluebells are immature,
And the Hyacinth are half strong, and half growing
For another week there shall be bluebells like clockwork:---
We do not know the time or hour, and it may be when everything
Seems untimely and half in bloom, and surprise you as the sun did me
When it burst from its haze, and shone today
As I ate, and there seemed to be Zion, which seemed
Impossible to reach, and its heavenly songs
Yet I will feast there upon the sweet nectar
And the Meat of the Fruit of Life---
It will have seemed like it could never be done
And it, too, seem so very early, and unexpected;
Yet there it is.