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When the centre of ones thought is oneself
Then self-importance tends to override
Spoken words about the common wealth
That one believes 'tis him these words deride.
Words on paper must be read out loud
And thought about as would the writer write
For read as would the reader write it down
The meaning would be changed like day to night
'Tis then too late the damage has been done
Words have been said that were not in the text
And nothing from the error can be won
Once he who wrote with truth is truly vexed
'Tis great the pain when an honest poet writes
Words of goodwill that then another spites
We look the way our mind directs our eye
The landscape changing according to our view
That often nettles grow where flowers die
That what we'd do with thought, we'd never do
One cannot see what another's eyes might see
Yet we can choose to understand or try.
For to judge another by his own decree
Is often by such folly just a lie.
Self Importance lives as guilt in men
Who see in others their own disguised disease;
Who transfer what it is that bothers them
That, in their spite, their consequence might ease
For all who raise debate with selfish thought
Will, by their own foul bait, be justly caught
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