Sacrificial Lions

How swift upon their wings of black

Do wretched scavengers fly,

Too slothful on their own to act,

They feed on those who die.

The mind cries, “it isn’t right

That those bold enough to try

Are fed upon when lost their fight,

Their great nobleness forgot.”

What is this hopeless plight

That these valiant ones should rot

While, fat upon their hardened meat,

The cowardly are bought.

For by the work of these the great

The world is better made.

So soon after their final fate

Their memories do fade.

They work their lives and finally fall,

Striving for those less bold,

Even in death feeding them that for their help did call.