Who am I, who, by impudent aspiration,
dared to seek accordance in places of
isolation, for those disposed as me, at least?
Yet, chance, strange curiosity, mistook me
for a muse, and arm in arm with fate, set
my hand upon the scene I’d so oft sought.
There, safe, for facelessness, amidst the
many muses, did I , through ignorance
and greed, disclose my knavish birth.
Then, steeped in childish pride, for words
of soft composure quickly honoured,
my lowly self was fraught to rouse and rise.
Alas, poor fool! Wisdom oft times sleeps
til swiftly wakened! And I, beguiled buffoon,
pride and sensibility lay bare myself to slay.
Twas ne’er this foolish lad who felled the door.
No! Words alone wrought this witless folly.
For such, I inflame the mirror of black reflection.
© Sebastian Lee
