Sometimes how our sable heinous deeds,
Stifle conscience, hush inner voices,
Lead to the zones of perpetual night.
I recall a character killer of father,
Walked he erect headed, puffed with pride,
With thrust chest, arrogant gestures,
Debashed face with stiff moustaches,
Twisted up like incensed mongoose tail,
When bites into the neck with sharp teeth,
And fights against the venomous serpent.
Had he a game-bird in rough hands,
Wrapped with scented silky handkerchief,
Among friends he promptly boasted of,
The condemned deed of patricide.