a content with warm covering,
loving relentlessly without holding.
building feelings of thankfulness.
Blessings can count with the love you have poured,
in my words, life, the family contoured.
Dear Poet, this is my gratitude song,
for the many little praises made long.
Thanks for the cause, it’s a very long list,
I wish I had more than a sestet pit.
a longing of so much happiness.
filling the pots of my weakness.
A rain that drops me to being human.
To he who answered the call,
It was a thing of shame.
No one will sing his name,
For that was the rule of the game
And with time broken limbs standing tall.
But We knew that twas beautifully lame
For in January the bitter rains came
Setting our streets and mortal hearts on flame
This time there was no room for the blame game
For to every growth ,there must be an aim
And the humble prayers of a proud Dame
Though none was paul
These few were fit to be the picture in the frame
Although it was a different ballgame
I will gallantly sing and proclaim
For the frail few who took the Fall.
For all the grains and the seeds,
The rains and the greens,
The fire in our hearts
Holding the hands of good deeds,
Gratitude is for living things.
And for a million times he’d given
He had mastered the art of evil will
The sacrifice of Innocence driven,
A confession purging to kill us still.
As a servant mastering his master,
His satisfaction arrived home faster.
For some it is remorse
And to others it is recourse.
For the sun and the moon,
And the wish we expect so soon,
Gratitude is a living thing.