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None of us is what we seem To be, and I am least of all, No one knows the turmoil In my heart and brain so small, No one can be perfect, Except perhaps, for God, No one anothers keeper, Though he be ten feet tall. Everyone needs someone To see, to touch, to feel Them close and love them fully And have their heart to steal. Every living creature has a part to play, Even maimed and broken souls Are loved at the end of day When Peters great bell tolls. Judge not other men Lest they are judges too, Three score years and ten Are three score years too few, And most of us just live our life The way the path unfolds, And end up no better Than our fore fathers moulds. |