Why should a man still feel a sense of terror,
Confronted with a man just like himself,
In every way: his height, his build, his wealth,
And yet continue clinging to his error?
Perhaps it is not color we're afraid of.
Perhaps it's certain grudges we maintain.
Perhaps the scars of ancestry remain
More than soft-spoken men can ease their minds of.
So then: does one rethink each day? The wearer
Of hearts upon his sleeve has gone insane
Erasing centuries of fruitless pain
Which he inflicted not; but he's the bearer.
It takes one man to reach a hand of love
And reconcile such habits of ill-health,
Restore a place to harmony with stealth,
And be content that small change is enough.
postscript
DFC Day Two: Canzone [link]