Wednesday, 14 September 2016

All metaphors of the dame

The call in the land is, let us pray,
          For we all are prey,
Caught in the way of predators of yesterday,
          Dinosaurs be they that roam our lanes today.
Present thyself, dame of infamy,
          To wit, a game of villainy,
Stashed away in the servant’s coffer,
          You reach now, the loot to recover.
Will they have known their name was rich,
          Never a day again for them to twitch,
Abused they were to conceal a crime,
          Yet to them, not a dime.
Promoted you were beyond your competence,
          Not once strung together a good sentence,
Married to him who rose without rectitude,
          Much educated beyond his aptitude.
The sheriff sued the serf for possible theft,
          Then you entered the stage from the left,
With an embarrassment of legal pandas you came,
          Black from white you all knew no shame.
The loot is mine you cried,
          As we asked what could you have tried?
No job you ever did altogether could have paid,
          What is now to be reclaimed.
Then you opened up a treasure trail,
          A bank account tells a money tale,
For how your term as first greed,
          Is not the last of help you’ll need.
Yet, you will walk away scot free,
          Not to say how the filthy lucre tree,
Watered your purse with riches real,
          For that is how we deal.
We have implicitly enshrined,
          In the law of the land most refined,
Every means to allow the perfidy,
          Of immunity for gross impunity.


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