Where will he, this minstral be
infuriated dark
With hidden tale behind a vale
from shadows placed his mark

With leash removed, his rage not soothed
revenge his last war cry
With out remorse, his goal of course
his enemies to die

Gather one or scatter all
carrot and stick are twined
The sybarite, not at all contrite
be shadenfreude divined

As all will take from the master's plate
a poison he dost pour
'Til lowely come the kingly ones
a grovelling on the floor

No pauldron here, for you my dear
whether milliner or mitty be
A judge comes forth of little worth
a cassandra he be he

Copyright - Eric Sandquist Sr. 11/2012
free to copy with credit given