And does the sun refuse to shine
Upon my brother’s head,
Or does he not taste summer wine
But vinegar, instead?

And does the road on which he walks
Avoid his very feet,
Or do the ones to whom he talks
Not think his voice is sweet?

Then who am I to bear a grudge
For what he might have done?
It’s not my place to be the judge
Of any father’s son,

And, least of all, of one of ours,
Who exercised such gentle powers.

Photo by Erika Fletcher on Unsplash

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