How forced
Plentitude of thought
Awaits magnificence
Brooding by the wayside, they
Pack close, huddle in earnest
As if numbers lends gravity
Too true, that effort which rises from ardour
Has strength naught.
Yet we Offer this our strivings in
Timid hope, what of?
Of eventual, nay Immediate self-gratification, the goal
Only one of privileged praise,
Though never to be had
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.06 seconds at 2:20pm on Dec 26, 2024 via server WEBX1.