Indicted

Dear Bruner, once we had a little talk (That is to say, 'twas I did all the talking) About the manner of your moral walk: How devious the trail you made in stalking, On level ground, your law-protected game 'Another's Dollar' is, I think, its name. Your crooked course more recently is not So blamable; for, truly, you have stumbled On evil days; and 'tis your luckless lot To traverse spaces (with a spirit humbled, Contrite, dejected and divinely sad) Where, 'tis confessed, the walking's rather bad. Jordan, the song says, is a road (I thought It was a river) that is hard to travel; And Dublin, if you'd find it, must be sought Along a highway with more rocks than gravel. In difficulty neither can compete With that wherein you navigate your feet. As once George Gorham said of Pixley, so I say of you: 'The prison yawns before you, The turnkey stalks behind!' Now will you go? Or lag, and let that functionary floor you? To change the metaphor-you seem to be Between Judge Wallace and the deep, deep sea!