The Seer’s Warning
Mark—a caution whispered low—
Not every crown graces the soul,
Nor every laurel virtue know.
In forests deep where one would roam,
Two paths, one in humble truth, one shown
In gilded boasts that quickly go.
Bask not in cheers that transient shine,
For pride, that rogue in sweet disguise,
May cloak a shame that binds the mind.
Reveal the quiet ache within:
A festive laugh might hide the night,
Where guilt awakens, sharp as sin.
Where jest is but a fleeting show;
True worth, though modest, finds its way—
A richer light than triumph’s glow.
In victory’s mirth, remember clear:
The gifts of glory are not for free,
For every cheer must face the seer.
WoPoLi 
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