They told me how bad was their living
With sadness and pain and grieving,
And all about the battles that they have fought
But, about mine, I told them not.
One thing that I will not ever compare
And that is the strain of another persons hair.
No matter of anyone's pity or pain
Unto which brought them sadness and shame,
I will not tell them of the war's that I've been through
Because I had moved on, and then I grew.
Life truthfully has made me smart and gritty
So, never from no-one do I ever seek pity.
One day for my judgement I will hear the call
As we all will, both one and all,
My book will be opened documenting my life
With my deeds and facts and also my strife.
Though one fact will be written in my own memoirs
I did not ever compare scars.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem