At times, a jester on the stage of life
And many more of note, an utter fool;
Yet to embrace all trials as humorous strife
Does rob of spite the pleasures of the cruel.
It is a special grace to make as light
All dark calamities that bring life down,
Well knowing that detractors will delight
In sour misfortune that most lives confound.
There is a subset of the human kind
That relishes another’s misery;
In these black hearts pure evil is refined
To tip the arrows of sheer treachery.
A wink, a nod, a smile at quick behest
Is better armor than an iron breast.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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