Ne'Er Praise the Plague of Plenty, Green Or Brown
Ne'er praise the plague of
plenty, green or brown
Nor drink her wine, nor
lust her harvest-tide
The greatest fist of luck in
loss would drown
If lent to test the strength
upon her pride.
The blessed straws of
little shall suffice
To bind this plague to
dust and yet re-grow
As sunshine brings the
warmth, and snow, the
ice
The little lessens less and
more, bestow.
Ne'er curse the little ones
orphan'd of much
For wealth abides in
hearts embraced by ease
Ne'er bless the richest
purse, content at touch
For sweetness lies
beneath a fort of bees.
When fullness shall ne'er
sprout fom plenty time
Why leave the grapes for
seas of tasteless wine?
Copyright © Mustapha Mosi Gomina | Year Posted 2013
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