Genius
is diligent effort
If not
of this, at least, of previous birth,
And to
use it for the welfare of mankind
Is
man’s measure of worth.
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Flow on,
for ever,
My poetic
mind!
Readers
may be a few,
But not
hard to find.
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I may
write a thousand poems –
An output
truly prolific;
Yet it is
only His Divine grace
Which can
make my art click.
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I know
I am not perfect
While
You are the symbol of perfection,
And my
effort is only to become
A man
of spiritual reflection.
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Ears
become less receptive
And the
eyes more unseeing,
And hairs
begin to grey at random
When man
shows signs of ageing.
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The train
departs whistling, at its appointed time,
From the
railway station,
And
little does it care for the late arrivers,
Be he a
merchant, or mason.
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