Sonnet 4

There stands a man upon the distant hill

With sparking orbs and alabaster tongue

Who skips about and gladly plays the shill

To greedy trolls upon the highest rung

As hapless puppets dangle from gold strings

That stare upon the world with cold blank eyes

And mimic lies with venomous sharp stings

To silence now forever peoples cries

But there may come a day when he will need

The people to support him where he stands

To then inoculate him from his greed

And sever from his heart those shackling strands

For there is more to life than fame and gold

And tyrant’s towers tumble and grow cold