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If I do chide thee then I myself demean,
For all I am must in my words be seen.
To cast a stone, then stones one must collect,
Or make no sound to which one would object.
I am not perfect, but I do seek to be,
Without the defects you may fain to see,
Dispersed in anger and or mocking smile,
Or envious spite disguised as wanton guile.
Indeed I suffer without a backward step,
Behind an armour polished and well kept,
But quite unruffled by the callous spear,
Thrown by another with a savage leer.
'Tis all my own frustration and my pain,
That will no doubt cause me to err again.
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