Wednesday, September 8, 2010

A poetry break

Dust
by Sidney King Russell

Agatha Morley all her life
Grumbled at dust like a good wife.
Dust on a table, dust on a chair
Dust on a mantel she couldn't bear.
She forgave faults in man and child
But a dusty shelf would set her wild
She bore with sin without protest
But dust thoughts preyed upon her rest.
Agatha Morley is sleeping sound
Six feet under the mouldy ground.
Six feet under the earth she lies
With dust at her feet and dust in her eyes.

What battles are you fighting?
If you died today, would you be glad you chose those battles to fight?
Are you fighting a loosing battle?
If you knew you would loose the battle in the end, is it still worth fighting?
What rewards do you seek?
Temporal rewards? Or eternal?

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