A Song Of - Poem by Will Barber
It's not how your life was formed,
It's not just how you reached the end;
I'ts not the songs or rhymes you made
It's how you sought to make amends.
What did you do? What did you say?
Why do questions go this way?
Search your conscience, search your brain,
The questions will all come again.
Every day may lead us forth
Courageously, upon the Earth;
Each moment has a coward's cry
If we but let the Earth spin by.
Grasp the nettle, sing of peace
The pleasures, pains the years bring forth:
But still repent; eternal doubt
Leads us to comfortable Night..
Night is not comfortable, because Dawn
Comes urgently to lead us on:
Hope intervenes, and makes us pause,
Dwelling betimes within this house.
Sing your hymns, recite your Psalms:
This is the path we travel on.
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