Smug masses dancing in the gallows, blind
Charmed are the snakes, toys in grasp, I in rope
A score and seven years to find their kind
A score and seven years to eye their scope
I forfeited the fiddle for the drum
While my grandfather ward off rest for love
My musings for a gun! But what had come?!
He dealt justice, proved his mettle thereof
Both shepherd and saint, he built my first home
A soul too cumbersome for mortal frame
But a gift to those whose path he did roam
I shall cut this noose and carry his flame!
His erudite eyes burn through blue and black
With erudite eyes I’ll never look back!
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