Accusation

 

In a land where shadows twist and sway, There dwelt a crowd with much to say. They pointed fingers, long and thin, At neighbors, friends, and next of kin.

"Look at him," they'd loudly shout, "He's the one, without a doubt!" But if you looked a bit too close, You'd see their own faults, verbose.

The man who cried, "He steals the gold!" Had fingers dipped in treasures bold. The woman who screamed, "She lies!" Had webs of deceit in her own disguise.

Oh, how they loved to cast their blame, While their own deeds were just the same. For it's often true, in this funny world, The accuser's flag is often furled.

With a chuckle, we might observe the scene, Where the judge might well be the real fiend. In this mirror of society's dance, The pointer's often in a guilty stance.