The Crisis Poem by Chester Maynes
The Crisis
He feels a huge space
And nothing is left to put
Like a mansion
Without furniture
The plate of no food
Is unpleasing to hunger
Without satisfaction
Man toils overtime
He that is trying
To solve a puzzle
Cannot help the one
In extreme need
Beyond goodness
All efforts exerted
He still claim
A man is imperfect
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5/8/2024 11:43:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
