Conscience: A poem 

Purgatory’s gates don’t hold too much fire 

A soul can be saved even if it’s down to the wire 

Dusk is in the wind for where the soul has fled 

But it can be saved from the pits where morality is dead 

No blood is wasted in deeply felt remorse 

With earth-shaking, a river can change its course 

An aged tree can bear fruit even the day before it dies 

The womb can cut the cord that wickedness ties 

A harvest makes you rich, but drought makes you brave 

The ocean is dark, but sparkling is the wave 

A prayer becomes magic when rung with a deed 

The effort is boundless in uprooting the weeds 

The triumph of the conscience is sublime will 

Its teaching is the fascination of the eager pupil 

The lamp shines brighter when night replaces day 

But dawn is in the offing when the lost find their way