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A Wandering Soul

Killing and loving
Willing to hate
Not enough giving
Is the fact of late

Something to sorrow
Because someone is dead
You may not see tomorrow
If you are not fed

If your parents abuse you
And you wear the same clothes
If all your friends use you
And you don't have a home

You may die at eighteen
See twenty at the most
But your not alive anyway
You're really a ghost

Your work is not done
Here on planet earth
Till you help someone
Till you protect and serve

When you feed the hungry
When you clothe the poor
When you do something brave
Or just hold a door

When you feel the hands of death
Close around your throat
Will you be proud
Of yourself the most?

Can you really think
Of yourself as good?
Have you acted the way
That you always should?

Ask yourself this
As my final ponder,
Did you march forward?
Or did you just wander?





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