The Rigours Of Compromise Poem by Luke Arthur

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My blood would curdle at the thought
At a compromise when victory sought
I loathe the indignity of such digression
The chaps a fool and deserves his lesson

Keep the moral high ground we’re taught
The compromise is begged not bought
A seeker, sunk is the one who thought
To proffer acquiescence before retort

Congratulations the compromise reached
We met in the middle, intellect breached
We'll avoid the rigours of ones concession
Discontented haunting of failed progression