The poetry of Beto Ochoa, Prose from a spiritual warrior


The Poetry Of Beto Ochoa~ Prose from a spiritual warrior

Saturday, February 24, 2007

The Death of Justice

Fitzgerald! Fitzgerald! your fearful trial is done;
The lie has weathered every rack, the scalp you sought soon won;
The jurys out, though they're in doubt, the kossacks are exulting,
While follow all the comic tale of Wilson, grim and daring.
But O Karl! Karl! Karl!
O the swelled and manxome head!
Now mocking truth, justice lies
Fallen cold and dead.

O jury! dear Jury! rise up and take the bait;
Rise up! For you the shite is flung, for you the kossacks wait:
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for Scooters scalp a'bringing:
For you they wait, the seething mob, their eager faces turning.
Here Jury! dear jury!
It's Rove that's in your head;
It is some dream and woven web,
Fitz prays your logic's dead.

The Fitzmas did not snag him, his lips are pale and thin;
He's free to walk and talk the talk that Nancy's off her ken;
The case is finished safe and sound, its cozen closed and done;
From hoax and tripe and closing's shite awaits the object won!
Exult, O Times, and gull, O Post!
But I with mournful dread,
Walk the rue where justice lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

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My families came to Texas when It still belonged to Spain.



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