Colin F. Jones

SEEDS OF SIN

When seeds are planted in the infant mind,
They will blossom according to their kind.
The plant will grow as a nettle or a rose,
For where it is directed the river always flows.
Tis in the seed that hatred or love will form,
That peace will bloom or as a violent storm.
Though we inherit the Genes of parent blood
Our teachers decide if we are bad or good.
Thus we forgive or kill those who are wrong,
All those who fail to sing our own good song,
For what you are is subject to your birth,
Where you were born on this divided Earth.
And all will fight though none can ever win,
For that same thing to quell the other’s sin.