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Ros Stimpson

You tell me that our Father
taught you to discriminate
against the Other. Against
those who are not in our family.

But my Father always taught me
that my brothers and sisters
surround me, that I should adore
each person out there

You whisper that Dad hated
wrong-doers, you tell people
on street corners that if they don't
believe your Dad, they'll burn.

But my Dad calls across waters:
'love is a cure for the sickness
that inspires wrong-doing',
and 'laughter is medicine'.

You boldly proclaim that Papa
has no patience left for this world,
that those who fight
for their countries are damned.

But my Papa led armies to great
victories and won them in His own name,
so those who fought against Him
might understand His strength.

You ask us to believe in the Daddy
who told you that your job is to mislead
your children to picket, discriminate lies
when they don't understand their meaning.

I ask you to read the book he gave us
before we were born. Daddy's gift reads:
'The Light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it'.

You probably don't remember
reading that. For if you did
your prostestations
would not be dredged
in the dark as they are.

I remember it.
And in my Father's house
we shall sing, praise, even picket
for the love,
for the light,
for his Son.


Ros Stimpson