Consul
by Fred Graves
 
 
I see you whine 
I hear you whimper 
        I must control my unsung temper. 
You ask advice 
You plead we assist 
        But our suggestions are dismissed. 
You fear a time 
You set in motion 
        Like a starfish leaving the ocean. 
I warn you now 
Expect no pity 
        When the buildings fall, in your city.