Shakespeare said it first, but what the heck,
‘Tis commonly remembered from Steinbeck.
Still our very own winter of discontent
Has fell cold on our world of disconnect.
Yet under the ice this lava seethes,
Across the fields, across the heaths,
And I fear this hidden broiling froth
Will surely burst forth like boiling broth
And when it does we’ll all be burned.
For one thing certain man has never learned
To temper his greed or undeserved pride,
And on that fact many truths have died.