We all walk a path, some made up of soil
Some of us struggle and wither and spoil
Trouble seeks weakness and make them succumb
Beating the beat of another ones drum
Some paths are concrete and setup in stone
Leave behind many who feel all alone
Push up to the top and strive to succeed
Without some pain you may never secede
One final path may be made of a cloud
This may now tingle and make you feel proud
Seek out a harp, to caress and then strum
Fortune of happiness, no longer glum.
Appreciate the visit and your kind words about my take on the month of May. Just “liked” your “Cloud Nine.” I am Reblogging it as it fits well with the thoughts I had in mind for RPT. Thanks. Looking forward to more fine work from you.
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