Poem: Stroke - Ronald W. Hull

Stroke

At the stroke of midnight,
the lies came out to roost.
The flies, they were loosed,
and there was no time for truce.

With his mighty sword of silver,
he stroke one mighty blow,
and severed the head of justice,
and brought it down to low.

The stroke, it wasn't serious,
affecting just the right hand.
The second was more furious,
burying his eye in the sand.

She stroked his head with laughter,
and filled her eyes with cheer.
Her gentleness precedes her,
throughout the waning year.

Like a flash of lightning,
the stroke brought him down.
At once a man of stature,
and an imbecilic drooling clown.

A single stroke of pen,
has cleaved these words to page.
It might as well be stone,
electronically to last an age.