The Mole Series - Part 6 - The Arrogance Poem by john thomas

What joy you bring, my inept foe,
Whose whit, like gait, is ere so slow,
And with whose thoughts I merry play,
Should you but only prise blind eyes -
Away from plot of my demise
Your worries would allay,
For then you could fair sightest He
This Man, your font of misery,
Who betters you each day,
Then turn your focus and admire -
A creature clearly born much higher,
And whose homage you should pay,
No longer on my fate do dwell,
For closer you than I to Hell.