As the sunrise cast purple upon pines
A Mockingbird chatters to cricket's tune
Not knowing on the insect he'll soon dine
Now his hunger isn't inclined, just hears croon
And his heart to the music is attune
Insects and animals without a soul
Can devour, without thought, another whole
Has society reverted, fallen
to days when Satan in the garden stole
Man's righteousness; left...
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