Pain is a fleeting
hour;
in time's nonstop
adventures;
that slaps one's face with
tender;
and shapes the soul to
leisure;
to worth its while so
sober,
when faced by ends and
future.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry is a sense-blossoming flower that never wilts.
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#wisdom
#wit
Pain is a fleeting
hour;
in time's nonstop
adventures;
that slaps one's face with
tender;
and shapes the soul to
leisure;
to worth its while so
sober,
when faced by ends and
future.