Three days of pure labor.
Things my old body should not be able.
Conceptualizing a design most could not.
I ask god for another path. So far He thinks naught.
Tomorrow another day. I think
He knows my hands and mind idle and does not want what creeps in.
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Author:
Keeter C (
Offline) - Published: August 21st, 2025 19:30
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu
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