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
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