Cry.

As the warm afternoon breeze settles in,
A soft melancholic mood swings in...
As I playing a little country tune,
My heart flutters at my incapabilities...
Lament not over what I have lost,
But weeping over what I could not do...
Just as a swordsman wish to overcome wars,
I soar with dreams as high as the skies...
But what's with this disheartened heart,
A heart as dull as a mallet?
Oh my soul,
why art thou so downcast?
Have I not accomplished great things in my youth?
Or have I not seen the wonders of what the Almighty can do?
Perhaps all I needed was a time under the apple tree,
But may I not be like Lincoln,
Chopped the tree,
Having to face the music...
Listen to my silent prayer,
My spirit be my guide,
What my right does, my left does not,
It could not neither could it try.
But if You allow,
Make my left as strong as my right used to,
Let it glory in what it could do,
What it's best in, use it, choose it, teach it...
That if one day my right regains its former glory,
The left rejoice together.
Let them not covet, envy or strife against themselves,
But I pray,
Let them love, endure and cover one another...
Most of all that they might protect whatever that's closest to me,
The bonds that no blacksmiths can forge...
May they not be broken through words,
Though swords slice not through them...
Know my heart, guide my ways,
Do not forsake me I pray...
When you can't trust my hands,
Please,
Trust my heart...













w~