This heart of mine that has known fear
Is old and tired, pock-marked and sere
And has no time for words unclear
Or foolish thoughts too insincere !
The problem if one feels inclined
To make excuse for acts unkind
When rather is, it should not be
The power of God must flower free !
Scant time is left to make amends
To heal the wounds or curry friends
In days to come we must decide
Will we partake that final ride !