Monday, July 7, 2014

White-gloved words

The professor smiles, greets the class;
He checks his watch, then sips a glass
Of water, and begins to speak,
His diction silvery, and sleek.

"Aristotle, in Poetics,
His great treatise on aesthetics,
Claims vanity will always cause
The doom of men with tragic flaws."

He pauses, then outlines the hell
Due men whose fortunes soared, then fell,
Poor dupes of pride's effrontery,
Who meet their ends in tragedy.

He glances round the silent room,
And tells of unforgiving doom;
His white-gloved words ring on, to scan
How time, and fate, make sport of man.

Intent, we drink in every word,
To understand the truths we've heard.
He stops, and leaves the lecture hall,
So long ago, as I recall.

Mementoque temporis memoriam

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