That black, beady starling reminds me of you,
All wrapped up in your coat of blue,
Home alone,
Eating crow,
When any fool knew,
That there was room
At the confession pew.
The Priestess
Would have pardoned you,
And forgotten her role
As charlatan,
And turned temple harlot
And taken you
By the hand and left with you.
But, in guilt, you flew.
I tell you, true,
That people do the best they can,
And they do what they wanna do.
-jenn long
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