Easter-Eggery3

I forgot to click the decline payment on the last post. Oh well, that's how it goes. I'm old. In the midst of a divine war at the level of Arch archangel starting as a prophet. Sort of like Milton as he meandered through down, up, and out again. Or perhaps Miss Emily Post, or Virgil did of the same: one for women and the other for souls. It is hard to say what will come out the mouth of a poet each day. Now I had to stop and go to heaven as I wrote at the end of Easter-Eggery2 and this is what the Most High, Most Holy told me to write: I have a post where He pronounced something and He said about it, Yes I will do that and yes I had you write. I know you wonder about the cloak and dagger way I have you write that with a hidden post in the draft section but I will have exactly what you have done, For how long have I spoken to them?(Earthlings).

Other than that the time period of my Easter-Eggery posts runs about 800 years in the past and Solange, the Saint is telling me this story...

Oh my children what is it on the ground I see
Oh Papa, Oh Papa, you my call to thee
My that is something upon mine eyes never looked
Are mine healthy and hale from the effort, hooked
Yes we are all right though still shaken from fright
Pippin slung his sling just after dawn's first light
I hit the mark though it charged Solange fast
Once it fell she beat the fallens head with to cast
It deep into eternal crevasse, on the other side
I walloped it to til the butts of our staves knocked inside
That is how Papa we made certain it died
It the lept the rams, rushed me I was behind, beside
Solange prayed to the Lord as we approached the trees
I struck the temple but stone's in the debris
Then let us be thankful, Momma's on her way
For here with the sheep we celebrate morrow's day
When Christ leaves Nicodemus' tomb, proves the way
Momma is coming? All the way to us here
How does she know the way to find us even get Where?
Before you were born, before we had a house
She lived with me and travelled our shepherding routes
She knows where we are at all times of year
But I climb that hill so when she is near
You'll 'ear my call to my sweet wife, your lovely mother
Who will be so happy to see you be good, not a bother
And do not tell her of this, no mention of a word
As we prepare for the morn to come of living Lord
Risen from the dead, renewed, restored

This time I remembered to click the decline payout because of psychotic, absurd, demented louts.

They say themselves public servants as they protest across the land, for government jobs, when by their folly and hands: it might not exist that much longer - God.

So we must also pay Medicare even though that too was deducted from our pay minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day of each work year. Half the people will be dead by the time the age to receive benefits is reached, or not for more than half