A funny thing, betrayal,
  The lover, son or daughter
In ambush on the trail;
  The battle cry, ‘No quarter!’

The rattling of bones
  Grown rotten in the waiting,
The dreams of Caesar’s moans,
  The harvest mite of hating

Hatched as a scorpion, pronged
  To sting their alma mater—
(For one must have belonged
  To truly play the traitor).

A funny thing, betrayal,
  For victim and for slayer:
Whichever speaks the tale
  Rebukes ‘that foul betrayer!’