compatriots, let your voices sing
like an unchecked choir
let words be the pitfalls
your opposition face
and in their fall from grace
at attempts to smear you
hold to each of them
those things that endear you
for a friend is but a stranger
that met you on a good day
with a bright disposition
and an enemy
is simply
someone you've not really met yet

The bin
Silly little boy
You say such odd things
Small quips of a king
Tall steps they must seem
How far you have traveled
How tired you must be
Oh dear child
Save your soft gleam
Thank you for your words
Each little line
Ridicule shall fade
All in good time