The road to Hell is wide and traveled well,
With timbrels, gay, and trumpets blowing loud,
And souls won’t know, if when, and how they fell,
With souls roasting, their bodies walk still proud:
But gate of Heaven opens but a slit,
Admitting few who, hardly, might squeeze in,
While Satan looks, and ready with his spit,
In case the Keeper overlooks a sin:
Might we do well, threading the middle path?
Not being vain, nor be too much a saint
To not deserve the Devil’s fiery wrath,
Yet short of being heart without a taint:
…..I hope, when Fate would finally decide,
…..I’m not despised by friends from either side.