Aforetime at which hour we were born
In this hustling world of disharmony.
Rich for what those gents has't nev'r adorn,
Poor for what those gents has't nev'r adorn.
Conflicting for the limited, forgetting the still.
Knoweth not that the still is peace.
One day ere we receiveth inner peace.
T'will beest late for t, but not yet.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
Aforetime at which hour we were born
In this hustling world of disharmony.
Rich for what those gents has't nev'r adorn,
Poor for what those gents has't nev'r adorn.
Conflicting for the limited, forgetting the still.
Knoweth not that the still is peace.
One day ere we receiveth inner peace.
T'will beest late for t, but not yet.
Request permission to use this poem