A Friend Still, But To Myself
A friend still, but to myself
Will I rather choose to be
Than I would for pretence
To others be, but not of
me.
The heart of man so deep,
Is full of both bad and
good.
Who can tell of everything
As at when he really
should?
So, from insecurity of time,
I choose to be this content:
That with myself a friend
still,
Should spend every
moment.
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