I have felt the slings of fortune’s might,
His crooked knife plunged deep into my side;
The oft spewed venom of his black mouthed spite
Devised to taint all minds with poison plied.
I have seen him light false fires of hope
To lead brave reinforcements far astray
And battered men in grim surrender grope
For mercy, yet their lives be cut away.
Still I survived and not the worse it seems,
No, wiser more for but that gauntlet lashed,
For of scorned virtue, oft the truth redeems
Whatever wicked lies false tongues have passed.
Forget not then of fortune’s Janus face,
Where evil often serves itself as grace.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.
