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.