The Tears of a River
Tears of the past
Flood water caste
As the poor line the riverbanks
The wave of guilt flows
Fed by weeping willows
Who fail to give a word of thanks
As salty remorse crests
Along with impotent protests
The untouchables remain as ever
Carrying their own casts
While the prophet fasts
Listening to a bird whistle “never”
The poor will always be with us
So said a man named Jesus
And so are we cleansed of our stains?
For who can question
Heavens holy lesson
Even while a beggar remains?
Cleansed of all blame
We wade in the shame
Of our justified existence
We cared but then ran away
As the songbird became one of prey
Feeding on our insincere repentance
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