You may not like what is said!
And go to bed with an achy head.
To wake up the next day dragging dread.
But...
The ruts you keep bottling up to cuss.
With a fussing that slows your strut.
Is for you to face.
And not others to embrace,
Your reality!
ONE MORE TIME!
The ruts you keep bottling up to cuss.
With a fussing that slows your strut.
Is for you to face.
And not others to embrace,
Your reality!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem