Like those who brook no argument,
Sinning, call others to repent
And lash the ones who speak their mind,
Put-out eyes of the hopeless blind,
So they shout-down common verse
And let the imp of the perverse,
Shred the words still warm on lips:
Let books slip from fingertips.
Hating all who think wrong things
Their toxic torment a gift which brings
More torture still, more calumny
For the straw-stuffed enemy.
So they charged the poets with
Treason and rhyme; they chose to live
Through words that carried truth revealed
And strove and sought, refused to yield.
They hanged them high and dry upon
The gibbets built by some moron,
Who laughed at them swung in the breeze
From his high perch, down on his knees.
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