Piss on you all! Am I supposed to bark,
as dog to dog? Dog or dolt I am not,
and won't be penned in one-syllable thoughts,
nor will I drown my light to spare your dark.
You scorn my manhood's strength with childish shots,
but my child years of hiding long are past:
this djinn will not return to his old flask
nor abdicate his power dearly bought.
      Have I enslaved my heart to heartless reason?
Attack you then my folly, not my strength,
for logic's edge can help cut logic's chains.
My heart's fruits, like others, have their season,
and sap, climbing a dormant tree's dry length,
while helped by warmth, must have seasonal rain.