Judge not the baby
who clutches so tight,
to mothers warm bosom
in darkness of night.

Judge not the girl
who runs through the meadow
and lingers at edge of
the forest's cool shadow.

Judge not the maiden
who longs for her lover,
and dreams of his kisses
in fields of green clover.

Judge not the bride
who stands by her wedded,
in gold beaded gowns
or rags dull and shredded.

Judge not the mother
who cries for her daughter
the innocent lambs
go too quickly to slaughter.

Judge not the widow
who buries her loved ones
and sits by their gravesides
longing to join them.

The End

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