ODE OF THE DEAD TOAD

'tis silent I must now become,
for this conquest is all but done,
for all truth proves itself in time,
as always I am left with mine.
The weeds will gather on the lawn,
where other weeds will soon be born,
among the flocks where they do meet,
wrapped in their wool afraid to bleat.
And to the pulpits they will rise,
who have lost the envy they despise,
and take their place on centre stage,
freed from the bars of their own cage,
to glory in their falser fame,
for they seek only, to inflate their name.