Everybody's talking, slinging mud and accusations like confetti,

I wonder what moral highground it is that they stand upon?

The mingled, mangled, insults tangled like alphabeti spaghetti,

Tweeted and repeated, every expletive, "Expleted," and offers of redemption, none,

All accusing and refusing to acknowledge the, "glass house," they inhabit,

Or that they have no moral highground but stand eye to eye with their fellow man,

And no-ones saying that we don't all make mistakes, but there you have it,

They're called, "Mistakes," we all make them and then redeem ourselves if we can,

Be very careful before you criticise the actions of others,

Although there's no problem with offering considered advice where you can,

But try not to judge until you've set your own house in perfect order,

Then pass judgement on yourself before you judge your fellow man.