by D. A. Cooper
I’m Amaron, I got these plates from dad.
I’m not sure what to say; he said I had
to write the things the Spirit told me to,
but, honestly, I wonder how do you
know when a thought is just your own or when
it comes from holy spirits, gods, or men?
I’ve lived an ordinary, boring life,
I have six kids, a tapir, and a wife.
I have, of course, had trials like the rest,
I always tried to make what choice seemed best.
Grand revelations, visions, I’ve had none;
Chemish, my brother, he’s the chosen one.
I guess I’ll write my name so that my kids
will know that I was here and that I did
my best to follow Father Jacob’s will:
was loyal to my wife and truer still
to Moses’ Law brought by old Nephi from
the holy city of Jerusalem.
And now I make an end to what I write
and give Chemish these plates this very night.
I am Chemish and I will write
a few short words on this same night
my brother gave the plates to me.
I must confess, I don’t believe
that I have anything to add.
We kept this record for our dad,
but now he’s gone the way of all
the earth since Adam, Eve, the Fall.
And that is it, I think I’m done,
I pass this record to my son.
I am Abinadom.
Warfare has made me numb.
The Lamanites are scum,
but we will not succumb.
And now my end has come.
