Gentility Without Joy

Spider spindling webs quietly through the night,

Keeping his rage well below the surface, safe from sight.

Gentle as a Lioness playing softly with her cubs,

Without fail, he can be counted to avail the sweetest sobs.

Working his plans out in careful, serpentine deliberation,

His own best interests receive their due estimation.

And of those around him he is diligently gathering,

Even of his foes from whom he is constantly hiding.

Yet he feels no joy in his peaceable temperament,

For him it remains but a fairly weak instrument.

What’s more, he knows one grim day it will not suffice,

To keep Satan's minions from their cruel device.

His malice, his damnation sunk deep in him only,

His retaliation is but a restriction of the spirit of charity.

Thus idleness is his favoured vice and Achilles Heel,

Before which each day with gnashing of teeth he doth lay.