The Marketplace

The drunken spout of tongues unchecked,
those spiteful words to me direct.
Hurt not the broken, fallen child,
its pain and joys barely compiled.
What words have you to say with me?
What action do you now decree?
No power do your words have here,
save the sword and sheath the spear.

Take your drunken spirits now,
your actions do we disavow.
No harm has come of his foul deed,
his siblings he hath want to feed.
The apple and the bread he took
make him not this day a crook.
Let us with these words console
and let him take the things he stole.


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