Passing Through.
Is life in passing such a paradise lostWhen touched by fingers tinged with frost
Is not survival the driving force
On which we plan and plot our course
We look for comfort, home and love
And sometimes guidance from above
And when a loved one's snatched away
Its just to test our faith they say
The path is hard and tiresome to
With brief respite for favoured few
Though once conceived, the path unfolds
To weave its way to fortunes bold.
Poetry by penfold18
Read 665 times
Written on 2005-12-13 at 11:14
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