To think we are missing is vain
there is enough for us
but we never see it
we never reach out
to our feet, holding our vices
our virtues, we never look down
smiling, whisper, thank you for moving around
steadily, timely, duly
instead we blame an old shoe
too coarse gravel, too soft sand
funny, we really are once the look of satisfaction
fades
this beauty we sense gently, for what could one day
become a pharaoh's curse
whatever it is you love
can kill you, if it wants to rebel
for acts of uncommon courtesy
little do we know to forward grace
like an arrow, sharp
splitting the targets, the arrows shot beforehand
grace comes in force
and complaints rain like meteors in the spring.
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