What Montaigne meant by "vice",
Is peculiar to us; not like,
Not of, but peculiar.
What sours our virtues
In time, is a false thing,
Unneeded.
We don't preference it.
We ally it as evil, or as a thing
Stinking enough to loosen it
To the depths.
We drink our coffee and tea
And dip our biscuits,
Or your own sweetest things
Much so much, more much instead.
Montaigne is harsh when he reveres,
But not "harsh", it's peculiar.
Anatol Cordua © 2017
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