A Bit of Wisdom

A BIT OF WISDOM Why censure the pig for muddy pleasures? Think you of the dark, cool soil so impure. That a nip on your saintly white robe shrinks Empty pyretic hall of blushing ego magnified. Why shoo the insects from burning to their joys? And label them fool to the crematory they crawl When all the while a requiem for your soul Stifles your astral song in Mammon’s hypnotic lair. Clean first your eyes before venturing far For a crooked line maybe a straight golden line And for you to tarry come’s truth whipping rod To clean it for you with by your own precious tears.