THE FRUIT OF VICE

When man indulges in his vice,
And gives his flesh all what it needs,
Does not he think of its high price
When in his eyes his honour bleeds?

How can he meet the other folk?
Does not he look mean in his sight?
Does he accept himself to walk
Among who then appear so white?

I doubt if he can meet a friend
And shake his hand with that pure one.
All people will seem of pure trend
Except himself who has a stain.

He'll see himself a pile of dirt.
What has his vice endowed to him?
He deems he hides in his clean shirt,
And seeks a way out of his shame.

BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
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