For Sid Poem by Hm. Nes

I raise the chalice to parched lips,
Begging not to drink it-
The draught a bitter poison-
I know that full well

But your command, repeated thrice,
Unwavering, demands I drink it dry
And die slowly, painfully-
'Please, please, please! ' I plead

But your firm response,
Each time, 'No, '
Resounds in my ears-
Thus, I willingly spill it,
Not the wretched cup,
But my own precious blood-
For your glory and pleasure