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On Capacity for Salacity

Our capacity for salacity Is beyond what one may imagine, And to our chagrin It does not end But begins anew right In our hearts, Wicked in every new day. O that sin within Every day rises up to begin Another assault upon our souls, On friends and foe taking tolls! And what of it shall we think? O the stink! We need air! Something fresh to breath Lest in frustration we seethe And writhe under its hold! But we’re called to be bold, To hold fast to that life. An end will come of the strife. You who burn, get a wife!

1300 on 20 Oct., 2020

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