I don’t ask for much; there’s
Not too much I truly need;
A book, a pencil, a quiet
hour
Nesting in my easy chair.
The trials of a hectic day
A spinning top slowly winding
down
To a wobble, a wiggle,
A final spin.
At rest til started up again.
So, why feel cheated?
Discontent?
What great malady ensues?
Is the quest so daunting
That it makes me cry for
Devine benevolence to
intervene?
Is the path so troubled and
Fraught with brambles that
Every step is a task of its
own?
Perhaps the masters of
overstatement
Have sold me a house in sad
need of repair,
A money pit with no end to
the cycle,
Forever in need.
Forever in need.
In need of acceptance.
In need of a prophesy.
In need of a blessing
To find my way.
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