The Rogue

As morning break and sunlight shone

One thought upon a rogue

a lazy sort, aloof, unkempt

an angry such a foe

With wirey face and shifting eyes

through rims with glasses filled

His gaze to capture victims

tis how his day is filled

He carries not refined speech

and has but language foul

cursing making sailors blush

and hide beneath a bow

Just ask him once, he'll tell you all

no thing he does not know

he has no need to learn or think

he has no care to grow

He cannot with a straight face speak

and carries none but lies

while uttering, avowing

his tales both low and high

What heights he's reached what lows he felt

he's none but wavering fellow

the finest of the proper traits

exempt in all but mellow

But trod he shall with sauntering look

to find another dupe

that one naive and trusting fool

be taken for a loop

What shall be thus of this ole rogue

who none can reach nor tell

for even he came One to die

to save his soul from hell

So if this rogue reflects thyself

and seems a bit in mind

tis was for thee thou rouged one

He came to change thy kind