Each day's a page we finish, in the chronicles of life,
No rewrites are allowed at setting sun,
The quality of grammar and of text cannot be changed,
Because that page is sealed when day is done.
Another chance we're given, with a clean and unmarked sheet;
To make this day's work better than before,
While yesterday's recorded and cannot be changed at all,
We have today, and all it holds in store.
Ashamed at sunset, when I viewed, my writing for the day;
With hot and bitter tears deplored my themes,
I'd started off with ridicule, of one I chanced to meet;
But justified MY pompous, foolish schemes.
Not once, upon the entire page, did "hope" and "love" appear,
No line of thankful praise for home or friends,
The shabby way I'd written, and the language I had used;
Caused me to pray I'd live to make amends.
Thank God I lived 'til sunrise with another chance to write;
And now the sun is glowing in the West.
I didn't reach perfection, (many lines, I need to change);
But, unashamed, I tried to give my best.
I found I'd learned some patience; didn't criticize so much;
And seemed a bit more cheerful...in accord;
I hadn't ridiculed someone whose views offended me,
Then, this one phrase stood out, "I'M GRATEFUL, LORD."
It takes resolve to make a writing full of worthy lines;
To minimize-DELETE-self-centered prose,
We're never read with pleasure, if our writing fails to GIVE;
And if no JOY, from life and writing flows.
So with an aim, a purpose and a reason for each word;
Attempt to write with quality and grace;
Each deed a splendid sentence, showing deep concern for life;
Write NOTHING, with the sunset, you'd erase.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
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