In days of yore, modesty reigned,
Like a lamb 'mong wolves, restrained.
But now it’s dressed in garb so thin,
Where virtue’s out and vices win.

The early bird gets caught in lies,
While snakes in grass wear fair disguises.
The world has turned, as tongues grow bold,
Where wisdom’s whispers stay untold.

One rotten apple spoils the lot,
As a reason, roots in mud do rot.
Birds of a feather flock to shame,
While scorning those who guard their name.

The blind lead the blind in moral storms,
And naked truths shed sacred norms.
Hands caught in cookie jars deny,
As virtue dies, unchecked on high.

Fools rush in where angels dread,
While modesty’s by vices led.
Straws show which way the wind may blow,
As courtesies long gone bestow.

To pour oil on troubled seas they try,
Yet daily, deeper goes the lie.
Casting pearls before swine’s seen clear,
But deaf to wisdom, they draw near.

Actions speak louder than hollow words,
Where reason’s drowned by chanting herds.
Fine feathers don’t make finer birds,
And yet they flaunt with flights absurd.

A leopard cannot change its spots,
Yet masks are donned in tangled plots.
The nail that sticks up meets the stake,
While follies dance for honor’s sake.

What’s good for the goose should serve the gander,
Yet truth and lies now freely meander.
The road to hell, with good intents paved,
Leaves all with empty, gaudy rave.

Rome wasn’t built in a single day,
Yet ruin spreads at the moral fray.
A wolf in sheep’s clothes roams the field,
As guards of decency weakly yield.

Let not the fox guard the henhouse door,
But guile now rules forevermore.
To put lipstick on pigs seems right,
And shadows merge with day and night.

Where fools and wise alike are clowns,
In cities, towns, and lofty crowns.
To throw good after bad is the norm,
In this unruly, shifting storm.

There’s no fool like one self-made,
Yet haughtily they flaunt and trade.
Cut from the cloth of jesters past,
The wise now kneel where vain stand fast.

The fish rots from its head, they say,
As feasts go on in the bold display.
What’s done in the dark shall come to light,
Yet blinded eyes deny the sight.

The pot now calls the kettle black,
As virtue’s sold, there’s no lack.
A stitch in time might save our way,
But loose seams fray in modern craze.

One hand now washes its sinful twin,
As old rules fade where new begin.
The cat is out; the bags are tossed,
And modesty’s been wholly lost.

Where fools and liars find a high place,
Modesty yields to loud disgrace.
Time will tell who sows and reaps,
In fields where vigilance once sleeps.

When pigs fly and stones grow warm,
Perhaps we’ll see a change in form.
But now, we dance to wild tunes,
And modesty’s lost in bright balloons.

As the wind shifts in darkened halls,
Old proverbs echo from the walls.
Better late than never, they say—
But silence reigns at the close of the day.
.    .    .