Folks And Their Sins Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I am late, I am late, for a very important debate.
Talk religion with me and your mind will be free
understand that your faith is your fate.

There once was a scrubby and wrinkly old boy
he would stand on the corners of streets,
he would play with a book, and it looked like his toy
but it was neither Byron nor Keats.

People walked and ignored, no one stopped even once
they were busy with planning their tasks,
when the scruffy one reached for his well-hidden guns
and he put on sunglasses and mask.

Now the people did listen as the fear quickly spread
and they stood there just praying to God,
in the end there was trouble and some folks were now dead
and the scruffy one gave them the nod.

He believed they had gone to a far better place
and it seemed they were wearing big grins,
and the gods were discussing this strange human race
who would pray while committing grave sins.