Poetry

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In our own begining,is our very own end unseen,not
an unending dream,what's real may be within,or grasp what is included in the past that lasts,the
present is our only way,by what i do or say,can
wander,or squander my own time away,or learn to live in an ordered way,GOD,alone can name the day
when i need to go his way,on cobbled road,or
hardened clay,my goodly thoughts may lead to none
if in myself am bound up with fraught,leaving out
what is good and true,and falling for all false
not true,a tree will grow that is so wont lose my
way,unless i fall away,my start will end where
my life will lay, anytime or anyday.
Joe.

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