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Found after the orga Bartok absconded with the town altar and the restoration began.
Not exile nor
slave, I came
for I must,
To behold Her
here: Justice.
Three plagues fell;
Orange hardshells,
Birds were slain.
Living dead came.
Hardshells favored
of the gods.
'Having fun?'
were They that day?
So I was told,
but better felt
the truth inside.
Ignored as
if I'd lied.
Scavangers to clean,
but slain instead. So
Quickened dead filled
Puddleby
with corpses quick.
I beheld it then,
Her hand so swift
to fall and place
Her picture of them
all before their face.
An altar call?
The altar broke.
The altar back?
A Master spoke.
Jealousy and greed
is of the Moon, has
not the Sun shown light
on this today
before all Earth's
children in dismay?
Fools and coins!
Suspicion causes
all to swoon
toward Justice.
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