Brother, it seems, you have been beaten.
As Law decrees and Precept goes
Your corpse is sniffed round by hyenas
And circled by the hungry crows.
It's not the pack who were the stronger,
Smaller beasts beat you to tatters
And who fights now over your carcass:
Jackdaw? Jackal? Hardly matters.
Your fist when it was time to use it
Always stopped halfway in the air
Was it charity? Weakness? May be.
Fear? Pride? Modesty? I don't care.
Or mere disgust, perhaps. So be it.
Good. Amen. I accept the terms.
I prefer that worms should eat me
Rather than I should feed on worms.