The view from an enemy’s window
Is never the same as our own;
The compass of habit swings useless,
Old certainties overthrown.
Our fear is the witch who ensnares us,
A hag in Eternity’s pay,
And the past— lives only— inside us,
As pyramids wither away.
Viewed from such deadly perspective,
His verdicts are open and shut;
So the lord of the Dead must forgive me
If I spit in the eye of his slut.