So many hands
            make light of evil deeds, and silken cloth
            can ne'er hope to dissuade the rising tides
            against the planted seeds of poisoned mind
            and venom-coated blade

The mighty bear
           once blessed with honeyed lips may rue the hive
           unleashing its tirade and fear the swarm
           of many pointed tips that sally forth
           with busy stinging blade

How many winds
            have blown, how many rains have fallen here,
            how oft am I betrayed?  How many hands
            will know the crimson stains that fall upon
            the folly of their blade?

The wisest die
            and some may choose their end, yet wiser still
            is he who knows his friend