The Tyrant

The Tyrant stands with flaming sword,
all she judges, no accord,
and down there at her feet,
the countless faces waiting deep

Outside, there is freezing cold,
A sad story freshly told,
Of love that’s lost,
Can n’re return the cost

Children look at her feet
Beg for more bread to eat
And still no mercy she provides
A statue stone heart that lies

Mercy none, much disdain
Until she might pass again
Through the thin that life may bring
That she be low as once was high
and truly then the angels sing

 

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