Uvalde poem

Kyrie  Rotten fruit, rotten root. Hands up Don’t shoot. Kyrie eleison. By the waters of Columbine, of Blacksburg, of Newtown, by the Waters of Parkland and Uvalde, There I sat down beneath my desk (Don’t shoot) to weep. Christe eleison. My soul to take. Kyrie eleison. My soul to keep. Gloria  There is no No … Read more