Every now and then I come across a poem that I feel is relevant to post. This one is by William Blake, I leave the reader to find their own truth in what he says........
A Little Boy Lost 
v'Nought loves another as itself, 
Nor venerates another so, 
Nor is it possible to thought 
A greater than itself to know. 
'And, father, how can I love you 
Or any of my brothers more? 
I love you like the little bird 
That picks up crumbs around the door.' 
The Priest sat by and heard the child; 
In trembling zeal he seized his hair, 
He led him by his little coat, 
And all admired the priestly care. 
And standing on the altar high, 
'Lo, what a fiend is here! said he: 
'One who sets reason up for judge 
Of our most holy mystery.' 
The weeping child could not be heard, 
The weeping parents wept in vain: 
They stripped him to his little shirt, 
And bound him in an iron chain, 
And burned him in a holy place 
Where many had been burned before; 
The weeping parents wept in vain. 
Are such thing done on Albion's shore? 
William Blake
 
 
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