The Primrose And The Thistle Poem by Mark Heathcote

Are there born-again Christians?
Or saints made from sinners
Who now comprehend or believe
There are more winners than losers
Who are they, I speak of?
Why do you look on me beguiled?
They had innocence as a child
And never started-out wild
Clearly, something happens
But we're all able to change
What was it you kept in your heart?
Hoping someday to exchange
Okay it's not easy to know
Why people can't always be friends
But I guess forgiveness
And hope always-transcends
There's a primrose
In every valley, and a thistle
Sure you can write your last letter
Make it an epistle
But it doesn't mean diddly-squat
I tell you, if you don't believe in God,
I tell you, if it isn't authentic
All we can do is forgive their crimes
and be a little more empathetic.