Treads he hooked to a hand.
A patch of agony,
A blotch of blame,
A spot of sorrow,
All stained; Each untame.
Upon his florid face.
Each brawling to eat the brain.
When a drunken monstrosity's dash,
Unhooks his palm in blood.
The withered mother, with cash,
Cleans her hand in mud.
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From @abhinavmendhe