When world becomes your very own dungeon,
Not sleep nor dreams, your jailer gives but woes,
Your praisers, scarce, but critics count legion,
Drizzle of friends, against downpour of foes;
In fields flourish wild weeds while wheat withers,
Your well is scraped, not for water but dregs,
The wicked need be checked, no one bothers,
To tie Heaven’s guy wires, you brought no pegs;
The door has closed, but no window opened,
Luck came, but may have passed the other way,
Of things you ask, how could God not be harkened,
Angels might have sung louder as you pray?
……And worst, you were raised to immortal stage,
…..But you forgot to ask of not to age.