'Pointing Fingers' Poem by Linda Winchell

Pointing a finger
Go on and point it straight out!
Pointing seems to be
What you're really all about!

Picking and pointing
All of my faults and my scars.
Makes me stop to ask myself
Just who in the heck, you think you are?

Do you just sit there all day?
Plotting my fate?
Picking and pointing
Out every mistake?

Don't you have something, better to do?
Than to sit and pick
Pick and point as you do.

It seems you've not noticed
That when you pick
And you finger point!
That there are four pointing back at you
With their four pointing fingers and joints!

So watch whom you point at
For you maybe the one.
And your picking and pointing now
Won't seem like such fun.