Colin F. Jones

FLOWERS AND NETTLES

What blinds me so that I do stumble now;
I have become my enemy somehow.
Tis not for me to judge the hearts of men,
Yet I’m disturbed by their spiteful pen,
That my reaction is as theirs might be,
Thus I cannot, by what they do, be free.
We must decide what for ourselves is best,
And yet not gloat with a pumped up chest,
For someone loses where another wins,
And we are left to contemplate our sins.
For doing right is often doing wrong
For who can say where another might belong.
Nettles oft sweetly grow in a flower bed,
When the flowers, of their righteous petals, shed.