Forgiveness By Confession Poem by James McLain

It is no small thing,
to weep in your smile.
It is some times a painful confession
it makes.

Concessions are as one cup as the
oranges over flow the cup with juice.
It's only hope is to grow in the fruits, is
as warmth are all your sunny funny days.
So mother,
so superior are all in good habit you form
with just that smile.

The cotton is stained from my tears that it
cries over you.

Blessed is the bread cooked in such a way as
to make the oven a covenant known for it's smiles.