Like a growing child,
His heart is filled with sweet tomorrows,
Never mindful of what trouble might be,
Many could pierce themselves,
With troubles yet unknown,
He asked, deep down from his heart,
Can a mother forget her suckling child?
In his wisdom, he answered and said
Yes they can,
Sad as it may appear,
Even in a night of frost,
Comes the discernment,
Failure lies in the ***** of the fool,
The morrow is bright,
By day or by night,
In his own pathway,
Plants he the most beautiful flowers,
A garden that speaks of the future unseen,
Though living in the world of men,
Encircled by uncaring people,
Nature could speak of their cruelty too,
Upon the matter, so heavy and so tough,
Still in his heart,
Enshrined his love for mankind,
Many a blessings never ceased from his lips,
Upon every step, proceeded the most beautiful words,
He wish all could find the long awaited golden day,
With each one, little or no troubles,
With fortunes ten times more,
With sunlight shining across a thousand hills,
And bluebirds in every single tree,
With thousand blossoming flowers,
In their kinds giving the sweetest fragrance ever known to man,
With little or no worries,
And loneliness and depression,
All fading oblivion,
In every heart, the most beautiful song written,
With a single purpose of mind,
A world free of hate and wars,
At a glance, comes in the ugly picture of the day,
But he still could press on with eager step,
And that word resounding over and over again,
Failure lies in the ***** of the fool,
Though one can't win forever,
A truth undeniable,
Again, you can't be a loser forever,
For sure, the path is bright,
And the morrow is beautiful,
Upon this note,
He could rest his case,
And the weapons of hate,
All banished.
C.2019 Moses Michael N.