By Michelle Garren Flye
There’s a barrel of snakes in the corner.
I’ve given each one a different name.
Take a look but do not get much warmer!
They are poison, this is not a game.
This one for instance, he is black and white.
I call him Prejudice for he can’t believe
Anything a bit different or unlike
Could be okay—he just can’t conceive.
His best bud is Racism, you can guess why.
Look there at the green ones, that’s Envy and Greed.
Wrath is a slippery one, he’s really too sly!
Indifference is this one, he ignores when you plead.
They’re all mixed up in my big melting pot,
Writhing and twisting, living in your heart.
(They usually find they can pick their spot.)
Decaying the human soul is their only art.
But look I have an experiment to show!
If I add this big one to the pot here
The others will ever more poison grow—
And that’s what you can expect from Fear.