Profits Are Poets
Two thousand twelve, just a new year,
No one knows the end, except one.
With faith, knowing right, none to fear,
Everyone just hypes to shun.
Others do it, in lively pun.
Outcomes of profits can be fit.
They can be played, on any bit.
Profits are mans weakness, in life.
They make all people, fear their wit.
Profits are poets, giving strife.
Copyright © Cecil Hickman | Year Posted 2010
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