Oh, fearsome fate will you heed my cry,
To thou'st pray, upon thy knees shall, I.
For shall it'st be 'tis conjuring of fate,
That hath drawn mourn-so many innate,
For upon the dearest ground shall'st thy knees kiss,
And pray'st the clearance of the beclouding mist,
For to none shall their fate be so written clear,
For to none shall their fate be tell'st to thy ear,
For to none shall their fate be given a'share,
For one to know is only when 'tis draws near.
Oh, greedy self can you pray'st for nothing not,
But grasp what's been given to thy before 'tis a'rot.
And begg'st not to thy knees of her faithful skies,
And race'st to thy moon shall then thy all'st tries,
And fear not the failures as thy'st travel a'fars,
For if we fall, we'st fall upon the very stars.
A poem on the uselessness of worship and prayer and the power of the belief in motivation and drive.