Rubbish

One time a miracle,
Two times a loss.
Three times contemplating shooting the boss,
Four times childishly confronted over something spiritual.
A miracle we’ve met,
A loss we’ll forget.
Words left unspoken,
And your religion, a token.
Murmurs in the crowd,
Displeasures spoken aloud.
All for a chance at treasures unknown,
I’m sorry but the plane has already flown.
Far away in a land astray,
We’ll all be happy in the rays of May.