Strive through their efforts to disprove,
Or rather to assert quite
The opposite: how much they love
The old saw, might makes right.

But is it yet correct? We know
When Lincoln was alive
Him animosity did show
Men most vituperative.

It was, alas, majority
If not complete a quorum
Disliked intensely him: but he
But held to his decorum.

´Twas only when assassinated
Did he become a saint,
With sudden swiftness: fascinated
Men see no more as quaint

His language true so much revered
As it endures the trials
Of time–yet some the concept feared,
Brewed schemes in secret vials.

One incubated long today
Has open come to flourish–
Which some declare the Christian way
Though it seems rather Moorish.

That “might makes right” these loud assert
And wage a war to prove it,
Hurt victims trouncing in the dirt
To get the spoil they covet.

Much oil they need, who lucubrate
At night beneath the lamp
To make their theft seem bold and great,
Trespassers who encamp.

Therefore so as to justify
They struggle to convince
Just by these words, “it´s do or die,”
Nor do their slogans mince.

The masses, up to the extent
Approval is required
Do they cajole, coerce–till lent
Sanction, ambitions fired,

They set about to bash the brain
Of any non-assentor,
Drowning out Lincoln´s language plain
Cacophobies of Stentor.