I came in with
mud upon
my boots
the night before,
So today I mopped
and swept
and washed
the filthy floor.
That is what is
done with a
dirty
thing,
It is washed and
cleaned and
made new
again.
What’s to be
done with a
dirty
soul,
With muddy bootprints
upon its
whole?
How can one
mop and sweep
and wash
away,
The dirty deeds
for which
our mothers
pray?
Can tears of
real repentence
act as
holy water,
Soap and sud
sentence for
the crimes
and sins that are?
Do not tell me to
confess my wrongs
to either the
priests or birds,
For filthy floors do
not become
clean again with
such simple words.

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