‘A lie fills up the world before the truth puts on its coat’,
      For naked lies leave leaden truth behind;
All falsehoods breed a fever for lack of antidote,
      While error strives to emulate its kind.

A lie will batter blindly till its barb has struck a mark,
      While truth is quivered up in bitter joy;
Truth knows itself a candle held aloft against the dark,
      It may not replicate what lies destroy.

Some liars lie unknowing, seeking but to entertain,
      Their gossip idle offspring of their mirth,
Forgetful that such rumour sows a thistle-field of pain,
      A hostage to the hybrid of its birth.

‘A lie fills up the world before the truth is up and dressed’,
      For truth sleeps late, its conscience clear as sky;
Yet conscience is but armour, built for steady pace, at best:
      And lies sprout wings, the better yet to fly.