I know not a path that pierces perfectly straight.
A linear vector that veils no vile whirl.
Even a wanton shall want and wouldn’t wait
The gate of gaiety as the girdle of the girl.
For a left path is nothing but a needless naught
A flawed flank filled with feral foes,
A dark dungeon doomed with distraught,
A terrible thicket tumbled with throes.
For this creeping curse casts away into crevice,
The path that plans to pledge planked.
Now denizens decided their own device
From the risen sun, till be seized, be sank.
For the world wrought war against wisdom,
Against the lord of lordships and life.
It mastered meekness, morbid martyrdom,
Ruptured what was right, ratified the rife.
There are hundreds of hurdles to hinder
And tens of tolls to tremble the trains.
A path not straight may be filled with limber
But the straight path is purged of pains.