Dorcas Gustine · 14. November 2008
I was not beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding or nurturing
Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is gretly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member – But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will – I am content.
- Edgar Lee Masters “Spoon River Anthology”
— Irene Toma
Irene :: Nov 14, 14:06
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