A Good Lord.

A good lord with a mighty sword, Leaves the life with a harvest stored. His sword that strikes the sinful sins, His horse that gallops, breaking skins, Stabbing wombs where daughters’ life begins. Still he's a good lord, a kind lord, With a moustache raised in pride’s accord. A good lord hunts his wife each night, Yet promises sister and mother right. He mocks the kitchen’s smoky smell, But lore and concubines he knows so well, In brothels where his secrets dwell. A good lord vows to save each girl, But every sip begins to swirl. With booze that burns his fading sight, He undresses women in the night, Their bodies stripped by his hungry sight. A good lord loves his daughter much, Yet commands his son’s wife at every touch. For a good lord must always show, Through his moustache stiff with show, How he controls with saree tight below.