A portion of bait blame squarely laid
at the feet of sly Satan the red horned
demon lurking behind closed doors
of deceit dripping with malice thorns
an ancient excuse for all vapour mist evils
excuse for all failures all tribulations
all sorrow all worries all incurred debts
all misses of standard mark all self pities.
God blesses work of hands good will done
works of ill will receive no angel blessings
excuses conform to configure an ill nature.
I ill matured man lay on a host of excuses
I pick choose a myriad of hard luck abuses
reason this that cannot wait to relate ruses.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem