In the kingdom of Idiots
They are endowed with Everything,
But on trays of frailty,
They trade their image,
That squeezed-dried image
Left now after a well-threshed encounter.
They have shame left as their dignity
Even that is untenable
Keenly contested by erudite slippery folks
Who grab the lion by the tail because it is the safest to touch.
They change in mid-air,
Their weary garment of age
Worn yesterday and before
Never minding the call for landing.
They are contented
And set afoot black military
That shoot to kill
The opinions of lettered persons
Converting to zero, the finesse of positions
Never minding the pollution of their poision
Nor the death it causes
Such is the arder which plows their vineyard.

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