A Shakespearean sonnet in iambic pentameter
The jackals, how they posture and they preen
While making great pronouncements of their plan
And obsequious posers, they demean
Themselves, slavishly; every chance they can
The empty suit mumbles a platitude
Of reconciliation, then renounce
The black widow adopts an attitude
Of wait until the time is ripe to pounce
But those with insight see it all unfold
The battle lines are drawn from left to right
Many will shake with fear as they behold
The glory of the Lion and His might
The lines are drawn and all must make a choice
To cower silently or raise your voice
No comments:
Post a Comment