If you do not quiver,
To bear God's frown.
Only then shall your horrors shiver,
And your head shall dawn the circumstance's crown.
When you face the giver in the eye,
And yet are not coy to look down.
When you've bore the filthy's blood and cry,
Only then shall your mane become gallant, brown.
When you can deduce the knave's ruse,
And yet not for your selfish sake lie.
Then shall you be respected and your character amuse,
The wing-donned hour that invades and goes by.
When you your task have done and swam in the sea of pain,
Only then shall you have against fate won, and your flesh bear not a stain.
YOU ARE READING
When Will the Moon Die?
PoetryIf Moon was a Child and spring his youth, He'd cry for a flower and die of sloth.
