Climbing Down with Terror

He hunted and was in turn hunted

Day and night by sleepless hounds

Who grew more obdurate each day

And vowed to have his entrails soon as they may.

He learnt it was better not to show himself

Though he gave out tapes and terror – talk,

Cocksure that him none could ever slay

And his men would see him all the way.

He thought little of the barking hounds

Who barked and ran after his heels;

He knew that the god who heard him pray,

For whom he fought, he could well sway.

So he went on with his hunting game

With game topping every move and claim

Till the bloodhounds did as they did say

And ended the clergyman in the fray.

So, fellow – men, ┬áthis is the moral of the day:

Never with false sunshine do make your hay.

(This poem is from my published collection Thus Spake the Hour:Flashes of 2011)


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