Apart from the Malice I'd like to Subsume
Are some Fortune's Tags which I strive to defer
And Mood the Dragon's Seasoned Pawn resume
Threw Slime instead; And dissolved my Brother
Shall I charge as your Fault? But then again,
Your same usual Stones pound my Bouncing Head
With no other Ritual to confront this Pain
You continue to bray; And play Mule instead
Unaware of the Grass you still do hurt
Blinded by the Light which you call Divine
Philosophy leashes your own True Worth
Sticks you in Trivia; And robs your eyes blind.
What is there to blame from such Harrowed Young
Since the Lord Philip's Man has not yet sung?