’Twas nothing that I said, but merely
        Such words the pen inscribe,
Have made me take a path, sincerely,
        Apart from all my tribe,
And while I touch the matter nearly
        It were but joke or jibe.

Such words as I have written, help
        Me on the path to usher
Toward unknown pain, some hopeless whelp
        While fate must be the crusher
Of all his dreams and schemes, as yelp
        His prayers for pastures lusher.

It were a schism cuts between
        My brain and its intent,
So that, the outcome were not seen
        Except in increment,
And that were odious, obscene
        Though it were never meant.