Riddle me this
ere's some things that good men lack
poisons to turn the pure heart black.
A list that's born of a serpent's gift:
wise, alone, and set adrift.
A hollow life with nothing striven,
always taking, never giving,
longing for another's place,
drunken thoughts of flesh and lace.
Hate that turns man on man,
feasting before a pauper's stand,
and last is holding praise too near
for this the devil too holds dear.
Try answering in the comments,
the answer will be in the next chapter, and please don't forget to vote.
ESTÀS LLEGINT
The Riddler's Book
AleatòriamentRiddle to your hearts content with a poem or two chucked in for the hell of it, but mainly riddles.
