I Am Not

I am Not I am not a gambling man nor one who begs for coins, Nor one of a joyous revelry who shall drink the wine of kings, Nor one who stands with withered brow on a cold, December night And yearns for dawn and summertime to softly steal in; And I shall not wait for judgment day, my eyes to the wind of fate Nor one who’s content with the worth of his land, and the toil of his muscled bones, Nor he who listens to sounds of the gull in this harsh and frigid land, And sees the sign of passing time in the solitude he recalls And I am not a man of thought, who ponders the stars up in the sky, Nor one of silent imagery, who dreams of days gone by, Nor he who works with blackened hands as the sun begins to fade, And brushes back his withered brow,to hear the words that lovers call; I am just a man of trust, who did accept the worth of time and place, And the wealth unknown as I stand alone and wonder of my passing life; A man of hope and a man of dream, and a man of less emotion, Who wakes each morning to a brighter day then the one that past before By Mark Norton