Reflecting on the state of this sick world

I do retreat in love of those close by

When life its fighting flag has almost furled

I look upon what we have brought and sigh.

I leave the fight to those with whistles wild,

Some horns or signs with words both old and new,

E’en those who stand and wait with others mild

In cold, to show more silently their view.

When votes have failed or over-ruled by law

When corrupt men of state or wives deny

The truths so clear to those no less, or poor

Exponents of those truths rest with just “why?”

… I now do little more than pick up pen

… To scrawl my feeble protests now and then.