By JH Sayyar
O gentle tongue, where honeyed words flow,
Thy silver thread stitch both wound and heart,
In whispered tones, thy tender truths bestow,
And turn the sharpest edge of wrath to art.
Thou charm the soul with music of thy grace,
A balm for sorrows, light for darkest night,
In every phrase, a rose the thorns embrace,
In every smile, the dawn's forgiving light.
But oh! Beware, for sweetness cloaks a snare—
The serpent's hiss hides beneath dulcet sound,
For sugar'd lies float softly through the air
And build with ease what truth may not unbound.
Yet wielded well, thy sweetness is a flame—
That warms, inspires, and lifts the low to fame.
0 Comments