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.
-
Author:
Jabberwocky (
Offline) - Published: February 6th, 2020 04:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 59
Offline)
Comments1
Your sins are no existent compared to those in "sequins gay for jamborees".
Andy
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.