Gleeful roses turn to sullen churls,
And virgin smiles of shyest brides
Soonest morph into widowed furls;
Sad victims of your ill-bladed tides.
Swearing lovers of staunchest troth
Must sample your bitterest swill too,
And forfeit bonds of grandest worth,
As you gaily gloat like vilest foes do.
Most ardent toilers all hours round
In shady hands fattest gains leave,
Mowed to abysses dark worlds far;
To aliens you their ripe labors give.
And not even sure-shooting hunters still,
Can with all probity wait to taste their kill.
Bards of sharpest wits and niftiest tropes,
Thus must bow and trim ink’s wild hopes.
Your dial’s dual fangs envenom all matter,
And you’re Joy’s most culpable Saboteur!
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