The Primrose And The Thistle Poem by Mark Heathcote

Are there born-again Christians?
Or saints made from sinners
Who now comprehends or believes
There are more winners than losers.
Who are they that I speak of?
Why do you look at me beguiled?
They had innocence as a child.
And it never, started -out wild.
Clearly-something happens.
But we're all able to change.
What was it that you kept in your heart?
Hoping someday to exchange
Okay, it's not easy to know.
Why people can't always be friends
But I guess forgiveness
And hope always transcends
There's a primrose.
In every valley, and a thistle
Sure, you can write your last letter.
Make it an epistle.
But it doesn't mean diddly-squat.
I tell you if you don't believe in God,
I tell you if it isn't authentic,
All we can do is forgive their crimes.
And be a little more empathetic.