a poem by ROY Douglas KNEALE, UK

Oh feckless CHANCE! When I behold your ways,
Seems clear, to proffer joy you rarely deign;
While your kin (mindless FORTUNE) cruelly plays
Less oft a goodly role than ill – ‘tis plain!
Oh ruthless TIME! Can you not mercy show
To all the souls, whose lots you fraught with pain?
Must you (and AGE – your offspring) steep in woe
So many helpless subjects ‘neath your reign?
And what Brief do YOU hold - oh earthly LIFE
To argue in a court with no appeal?
Your ancient coils unwind amid grim strife,
To (even from mere infants) fond HOPE steal!
The man in the arena (Crib to grave)
Alas! In mortal chains is but a slave!


[R.D.K. Cat. No. G4331.]

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