My Father’s House

My father’s house
Has many mansions
And all His poems
Have many scansions
Some are written
In funny letters
And nearly all say
Forgive the debtors
Forgive the enemy
Forgive him now –
But none of them,
Dammit, tell you how.

And some are sung
By men in hats
Or cloaks that make them
Look like bats
Or feathers and beads –
(Even tasteful tweeds)
Or black as crows –
Guess heaven knows
Which poems are best …
Or’s this some kinda test ?

Teach us how to live
O Buddha
What we shouldn’t do
And what we shudda

Teach us to forgive
Teach us to live
Before our life’s over.


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