Prize
Our souls were thrown together, though not wise
Oh that all wisdom's tether were demise
my hope flew on a feather, compromise
and ancients thought of whether was concise!
The win and lose of time, did realize
through love, and nurturing's rhyme, not criticize,
no guess work, no conspire, could fill with lies
the truth of hope's endeavor, failing tries . . .
Some losing, for the sake of others . . . prize!
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2011
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