A poem about good intentions sometimes squandered. A chronicle of imperfect plans.
Just when you think the gain of the golden,
Glorious dawn has begun
You must run back in; depart and back into the desperate dark
and
When the horizon of hope lies just beyond the setting Sun
You must run back into the dark and instruct the heart to not despair
when
The future seems lost, or the cost too high; too stark
Because when the time to find your way has again gotten under way
You must run back in; depart and into the desperate dark rescind
Worry not;
It is only momentary, but not forever
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