The people’s hate will catch you when you’re old
when vice has rotted you. I hear them say
Tradition lays down punishments. I’m told
That first your vicious tongue gets carved away
A buzzard’s meal. Your eyes two ravens hold
A moment in their beaks then gulp. That day
your guts are a dog’s dinner eaten cold
the other bits fierce wolves will drag away


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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