Here’s the second of the two poems written that night at Sam’s Club (see my 6/11 post)


Comest, thou knave, to this unbidden place?
Fear wafts from your soul; face hung in disgrace.
Fleest thou something your heart can’t embrace?
Lack you, too, courage oft exempt in this race?

Travel thou here some lost shame to requite?
Masking ill presence by cover of night,
To skulk over death with cowardly flight.
Bravest now these things for honor, or spite?

Tell me now rogue, shall you ever be true?
Does the mark of the honest tender so few?
Lives there today one to give you your due,
Or shall we but shun til you fade from our view?

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