Where slept that valley, of the grand yore!
There stands today, an ocean bare
Whose crimson tides, now wash ashore
men’s shattered prides, a drop… here and there!
In this God-made realm, every man, a guest
A heart to plough pain, a soul to say a prayer
Who vanquished whom, in prides’ vain contest
Just dripping sutures, a drop… here and there!
How big, could he be, within God’s grace?
A man meant to toil, till the end, to bear
Those labors of love, or a prides’ lost race
Betwixt sweat and blood, a choice to shove, a drop… here and there!
Would struggle, be a creed, some day?
Yes! The one to make, not the one to pare!
When souls discourse, not the prides in fray
Strewn dialogs, of recourse, a drop… here and there!
What lastly decides the end, you know!
Is when, nothing’s left to win or lose, but to…
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