Colin F. Jones

THAT SMALL FLAW

Like a giant who is gentle to the small,
A man of honour who curbs his power;
Curb thy tongue lest the same man fall,
Whom could your every limb devour.
For the world resides not in your soul,
There in your mind of personal thought
You are one of the grains that make it whole,
On a beach where men have died and fought.
And though in blood and fear, your mark
Was made to give your voice free lease,
The sea is the sanctuary of the shark
That left alone will keep the peace.
Yet always there is that small flaw
That uses freedom to begin a war.