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
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