By JH Sayyar
Though shadows stretch, whispers fill the air,
And falsehood struts in garments finely spun,
The flame of truth burns steady, bold, and rare,
Unmoved beneath the ever-turning burning sun
A white lie may flourish in the youthful spring,
Its blossoms bright, its roots in shifting sand,
But cruel time, the quiet judge of everything,
Will sweep it clean with wisdom's patient hand
For truth walks slow, but never veers aside,
Her feet are firm; her gaze is clear and deep;
She does not boast, nor stoop to match the pride
Of lies that dance, then falter, then must weep.
The dawn reveals what darkness would disguise
Truth stands alone, and falsehood fades and dies.
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