It figures that those without
Can scarce be with.
But with hope they pray;
One hanging by the cliffs
Has no bed to lay.
It is funny how the rich pray
For riches
Yet the poor man a slice
For the bread crumb will suffice.
There a folly it becomes to doubt the world
When one's riches of privilege
Not a distant pearl
But a constant pleasure.
Cynicism: a royalty
Cause what is hope for
Those which need none?
Where does the race go
For those with no wish to run?
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