Mourning Charleston

We will be legumes of men,

Who steal from the bitter-sweet air of humanity,

Nothing but the sweet nectar of goodness,

And sew that goodness deep into fertile soil,

The dark loam of our work,

Will sprout new fruit and flower,

And all of the pain and bitterness of bone on bullet,

Will melt off the horizon as haze to morning sun,

These dark times will loose a fury of love,

That knows no equal,

And while hobbyists hobby and lobbyists lobby,

The sweet retribution of reason,

Will quiet these times of fear,

Meadows will regain their color,

Heartfelt smiles will beam once more,

And when or if or how we meet that fabled, labled halo in the distance,

It surely will be pleased.