On Honor

A white sheet hung out in the sun to dry,
Is like a flag that sways with the wind,
A flag, of which noble men die,
In search for honor find.

Honor, a humble man’s only possession,
Fit for all to defend and protect,
Against the trickery of greed and obsession,
Of the inhuman human’s defect.

Honor is not lost by submission or defeat,
It kept in the recesses of the soul,
Though the body and mind be fragmented and beat,
Honor remains to keep the spirit whole.

Honor is that sweet, pure inner voice,
That sings songs to a meek man’s rest.
For in giving up the worldly choice,
The virtuous remain happy and blest.

Keep honor, and hold it dearly to thy heart,
For gold rusts, power dulls and fame fades away,
In the twilight, only honor remains unpart,
For the noble to savor in his remaining days.

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