Pilgrims' Open Pretense

Funny but the true cure, sickness admires. That embodies joy which environmental service inspires, To continuing its selfless humanity upkeep... Which birthed our artistry: pens weep. Blushing worries silent babies' trials to speak. Inner mutterings key, fear demands seek- How hens never wish to travel high. Aren't they truly born to fly? Not until been tempted; hunting chicks For foods to make eaglets eagles That only resulted to sensational flying conflicts, Sometimes out of many fearful chickens like seagulls. Dare to be, may be for real. Dare to see, not in sin or for deal. Be thy own cover, for chilling breeze. Be thy sunny night, heat heals at ease.