A Song
a poem by: Victor Marie Hugo
Sitting at His table one day,
God and the devil a game did play;
Hated humanity was at stake;
Well, the first picked Bonaparte;
The other drew, and for his part,
‘Twas Mastai that he did take.
Impoverished abbey, thin as a sprite!
Petty prince, small and filled with spite,
Truly a thoughtless brat!
Oh what a worthless pot!
‘Twas God that had the losing lot
So the devil won them both at that.
God the Father cried, “Take them you!
You will not know what to do
With them”; the devil laughed; “Good sir-
That’s where you’re wrong,” the devil said,
And of the one a pope he made,
And of the other an emperor.
Spilled Words is what we offer one and all.
A website offering fresh, original and exclusive material by writers who espouse the philosophy that “Words Matter” and believe that imagination is the seed of accomplishment.
We are passionate about the world we inhabit; Aware there are two sides to every story. Persistent in our pursuit of all points of view.
A place to think, to laugh, to shed a tear. Where words are gifts that feed the soul; ignite a flame within the heart; excite the recesses of the brain; spark passions and concerns; inspire the conscious and subconscious.
Join Spillwords for this and more…
A website offering fresh, original and exclusive material by writers who espouse the philosophy that “Words Matter” and believe that imagination is the seed of accomplishment.
We are passionate about the world we inhabit; Aware there are two sides to every story. Persistent in our pursuit of all points of view.
A place to think, to laugh, to shed a tear. Where words are gifts that feed the soul; ignite a flame within the heart; excite the recesses of the brain; spark passions and concerns; inspire the conscious and subconscious.
Join Spillwords for this and more…
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