The goblet bows and also bends
To pour the blessed wine,
Man, too, must well remember
Humility is, indeed,  divine.

 Head in the air is plain disaster
For the one with no flyer’s wings,
Man, you are no Nightingale
You croak, the bird sings.

 A smile will a smile get
A frown some creases in return,
Tit for Tat is not just for kids
The place for dust is the Urn.

 So, be humble like the lowly dust
On which you daily tread,
Without which we would not live
We’d all be stone-cold, dead.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)