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Know The Joy

MAN who struts and frets, full of complaining,
IS best equipped to grouch, to moan and groan.
FOND of his voice, it flows with no restraining,
OF ungrateful heart, though mighty mercy shown.
COUNTING any good he's done great treasure,
HIS errors fret him not...all in the past.
TROUBLES though, beset him without measure;
BUT blessings he's forgot and is downcast.
HE cannot see the forest, trees quite blind him,
DOES not avail himself of helping others.
NOT that he notices, he turned so they're behind him.
COUNT them as tests he failed; they were his brothers.
HIS grief must please him, let it be his lot.
JOYS which were for him meant have been forgot.

Quote: Fyodor Dostoevsky

By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)


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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The NO FRILLS CHALLENGE--read page for complete rules and info (challenge has been closed)

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