Messy Leslie

Messy Leslie, cute and dressy, kissed a little boy.

When she did, she poked his rib, and took away his toy. 

He ran away and would not stay because he knew her ploy. 

But Leslie cried to see him fly, because he gave her joy.

Leslie fessed to a priestess that she had robbed her friend,

And told her how the boy allowed her kiss on him to send

Him running off without a thought to how their love would end,

And asked the nun, “God’s will be done, could He their love amend?”

The nun replied the boy had died as he had run away.

Tripped on a rock and knocked his block, and breathed his last that day.

He bled the ground and made no sound, for death on him did weigh.

Alone and dead, his spirit fled, to heaven was conveyed.

But Leslie cried when the boy died, because he’d gave her joy.

And no more kissed, the boy she missed, although she kept his toy.

She prayed all day that God allay her grief for the lost boy

That she had kissed, but now she missed, and found her love destroyed.

Then God did send an angel wind to bless the crying girl,

And moving air blew through her hair, and tossed her tressing curls.

She looked above and saw that love had not passed from this world,

But entered down into the ground, and up from death unfurled.

And love from doubt began to sprout, though grief for her was hard.

For love and loss had heavy cost, and left her heart deep scarred.

But up her eyes, to her surprise, at once regard

That God had placed her lover’s face among eternal stars.

“Oh thank you, God, that from the sod where now his body lies,

“Did you upspring, on angels’ wings, his spirit to the skies,

“For all was lost, at heavy cost, and from my weeping eyes,

“The rains did fall, and death did call, but now to my surprise,

“The Lord has called, my grief has stalled, for now my heart does sing

“And now through death, I notice breath, and rise on heaven’s wing.

“To sing in praise through all my days, and to my Savior cling

“For I repent, His love’s been sent, and soothed death’s painful sting.”

So Messy Leslie, cute and dressy, kissed the stolen toy.

And cried a tear once every year when she recalled the boy

Who from her fled, then bled and dead, but life was not destroyed.

For even death, though robbing breath, can never conquer joy.