By Andrew R. Duckworth
As sure as you’re born, you can see
Whether cloudy or as clear as sky can be,
The prideful hearts destroy themselves,
Flying high before it’s time.
And as they march, it can be heard,
Before they speak a single word,
The sound of flapping, fragile wings
As they claim themselves sublime.
But as they soon approach the sun,
They realize grave mistakes done,
And down they fall,
Down they fall,
Names no longer echoed in marble halls.