My sins they seem quite small to me

Some stitches in life’s tapestry

I can’t unpick and do again

To be as good as other men

Who stand there perfect to the eye

With virtues they’ve not had to try

All sequins gay for jamborees

And me in patched up dungarees.

From labouring long this arid field

That sorrow grows yet virtues yield.




  • Goldfinch60

    Your sins are no existent compared to those in "sequins gay for jamborees".


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