flyblown

those who devour the meek win at the game
but do not find the ending's all they wish
we do not always find that the best dish
is served up with a side-helping of shame
the hungry lion does not end up tame
and yet the loser may be fed to fish
while every winner goes out with a swish
nobody knows the price of instant fame
we see the rain as kind and do not wait
to wonder at the slower afternoon
that might have been we lay it down because
some might be forced to blame it all on fate
and yet we know that things happen too soon
and we can almost hear the angry buzz