Quite frequently, we clearly see,

the pathway to our destiny.

Prompting a rhythm, within our ways,

Which paints the glory of our days.

And joyously, the gains we reap,

All is ours, we wish to keep.

And keep we do, and seldom through,

until a day is painted blue.

In our excess, we failed to plan,

maintain the way it all began.

Then back to mirky waters be,

Til round again comes clarity.

Our welcomed gains will never fade,

if always by our ways outweighed.


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