Being Uncertain

Grass cringes when the welcome wagon hangs its hat
The floor should not be a rodeo
Sparks for courage forgotten are dress rehearsal for intolerance
Where will conniption show fear

Misty hirings are self contained
Futures genuine
Breaking limits on shared hope are not taste
Better rates agree

Giving to bad seasons is uncertain harm
I'd rather be doing the lawn.

Social Error With Bad Gills.

Blunder is not magic but hands are often bad refusals of greed.

A plan for an Estuary of Peace is not All Choice.

Never Again.

Tired for the Slavery, Hired for the Bravery

Simplistic affairs.
Improved beliefs.
Better studies and hope.
A chance to change a rope.

But even the best of days can be confusing.
The edge of a harmful experience demuring.
Next in the edge of hope can be assuring.
A plan for good sense is not alluring.

Becoming higher in your own decisions and hope.
There is no sense to keep the dead rope.
But the reason for a planned indifference.
Can be seasonal hope with a better choice of insight.

Trust in the good hope of a day.
And play for a good bone in the edge of a stay.
Better cows are not always better drills.
A plan is not to take a lot of pills!

So be sure that you keep your pace in life in justice.
And plan to be benevolent in all of your ways.
A bone in your rear eye of time is not assuring.
The complication is never alluring.

A choice of pain for a year versus a lifetime of complication is not easy.
The direction of hate is not honor for the strapped enjoyment of pain.
There is no direction for a lame regression.
When pain is a priority of better aim.

Never Again.

Buy a new sudden eye for charity has no future predictions. Maddened patients can sometimes thank arrogant doctors.

Give two cents for every one penny earned if you fall asleep in Torah class.

Might for good hope has no meaning.

Trust in Hashem.

Dying Mood

There once was a friend of mine in the sun
A thorn with an angry thumb
A flailing hope with a cheshire grin
Oh how might my dear friend could swim

But the end of the time of the day
And the cold of the manage of the say
The winning of the lost voice of trust
A day without much of a bust

The worry was all genuine
How could the thorn make a way
A day without a good hope
A thumb caught in the rope

But the edge of the ear can belie
There must be more than a stiff spry
And the Chinese moon was a mess
Who could answer for all the chess?

Inside every cookie of fortune I must say
I see a good deal of hope but not much a lay
There is no complete revision
Of ever due season
And the China Dream was not a more than ever little nightmare of lost poetry.

Souls of better years can always fix the easy street, but the real revolution is a candid excitement of unheard plans.

Necessity is not dismal hate but wisdom against time.

Absolution for a good prayer is an Angel who understands revolution and has her way in the heavens to keep the forces of good knowledge and hope in good stead in the grace of G-d.

G-d bless America.