a poem by ROY Douglas KNEALE, UK

Loath are we folk to call a spade a spade,
E’en tho such digs into a mound of truth,
‘Twould seem of honesty we’re so afraid,
We often deem frank speaking as uncouth!
Ah! Peradventure ‘tis too brave a stride,
When what is true is openly revealed,
For turning a deaf ear is oft applied;
Preferring much of such remains concealed.
Perchance delusion is the drug of choice,
To mask what otherwise would cause distress;
Thus make-believe drowns out the candid voice,
Lest gloom o’ershadows brief-known happiness.
How strange, from cradle to the grave, we souls
Keep our mind’s closed as are the eyes of Moles!
[R.D.K. 2012.]

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