Sunday Sonnet!

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Freedom of thought let no one disallow,
The stuff of progress, true, thereof is made;
No wholesome fruit is borne on broken bough,
Nor truth survive if censure speech forbade;
Thought with impunity precedes the word,
Utterance of which to ownership commits;
Denial, then, must surely be absurd,
Lest to hypocrisy a fool admits;
Inebriated hauteur can seduce,
A shallow-bottomed mind, to verbalise
Unconscious reservoir of vile abuse,
Which, in the end, leads to his own demise.
Uncultivated, barren, rocky field –
Much to be done afore it fruit can yield!

©Meanderings 2017

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