Many heed the Stupid God's command
And seek to claim for it again the land
Where others, thinking, find they must yet stand
And had had hope that they had slipped the yoke
That, placed upon them, soon did make them choke
As some do celebrate as they provoke
The rising voice and, soon, the rising hand
That seems to be what these events demand
As a response that they will understand
Who think the still-done struggle is a joke
And think themselves but jesters to evoke
Old foolish hate: an egg, and they, the yolk.
Perhaps it is the pan now growing hot
That shows itself as their deservéd lot.
No comments:
Post a Comment