Staircase Wit
Aggrieved and incensed a lot
I thundered some dull abuse
Que sera sera said a passing sot
Act Betimes or else, there’s no use!
Some possess the wit to cut
At anyone who stands in their way
Sometimes a Parthian shot
At times words to disarray
But many of us cannot find
The words to appease our souls
Someone’s words blow us blind
With rage and we drop our goals
Only after the moment does pass
And moaning Alas, we just toss and turn
Do we think of the way and pass
That make us less with ire burn
Yet does it all matter that much
To riposte an insult and cut back?
Off a firm tree, cut a tiny notch
Is that a massive deadly attack?
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