Such As the Tree Is, Such Is the Fruit

Snaking through rocks, flowing on sand The river sings charm and charity Infesting the cosmos and the land The ill-disposed breathe barbarity Like an orchestra, man’s life may seem Easy or hard, some keep the accord For want of goodwill, ethos, or esteem Playing virtue, some cannot afford Yet faking and playing, others can fulfill Masks of goodness they wear only to Foist on you and me some sickly swill If only motives, we could see through