Misgiving Poem by Paul Mills
Misgiving
How futile the infirm man’s battle
With miscreants wrath he’ll stop to cry
The conquer sobs not but slaughters
And weak men weep then waits to die
Is it not better to slay at once
The tyrant’s weakness without delay
Then stop and wail with lost victor
And to death as the despots prey
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: verse
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5/3/2024 4:22:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
