Each morning’s dawn
Tells of plantation visits
Which brings dizzy yawnings
That only planters understand.
Nay, ’tis a sign of labours’ pain
That engineer the Union’s plans
To make the Masters pay
I know of a royal man, who was born in the land of his manner. He grew up in an alien royal fortress to become the leader of his manner. His alien training in letters and politics turned him into a Socratic god to lead his people to betterment. Yet, he did not succeed…