Twas the Night

Twas the night, he said, with much work left to do

Twas the day, said he, when an honest man is through

In the gale, knew we, where trembled hearts lay bare

In his conscience, we knew, demanding salve over prayer

Inasmuch as fear resides

Deep within his soul

Contemplating the labors of alcides

A penance for working proles

Accused of eminence front

His defense would corrade

Agress upon his character

In hopes to break his facade

Once seen as a malefactor, of high crimes opprobrious

Now viewed as a benefactor, of high climbs harmonious

Shall this resurrection, proceed sans consequence?

Or will his transition, miscarry with desinence?