Shall I compare my life to a sizzle summer season or winter crabbed cold
What I have lost, the anguish toll; with what I have gained,
What I have missed, all regrets with what attained,
Little room do I find for my own pride at this age being old
Shall I count in stride
How many days of boredom have been idly spent;
How like a star in murky skies, vanished; the good intent
Has fallen untimely short, or out of queue been turned aside.
But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this way of compare
Defeat and loss may turn to victory and gain in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the highest tide.
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