Tinkle by when you cycle down this road

I and you will go together down the hill

to fetch a pail of water

Water to wash away the sin

the sin I carry next to my skin

It rubs against my neck.

Sometimes it fades into almost a shadow

unseen unwanted

sometimes it grows like a grey fibrous tumour

and weighs like an anchor on my neck

I want to throw it away

right away

over down by the stream

But I fear it shall plant and grow

into a tree, a huge evil tree

of a million thick sticky leaves

which people will pick and examine

and find that their fingers have changed into stubs

I have to carry my sin for life

to bury it with me

lest it spread into the world.