Poetry

      January One, Two-Thousand Twelve

Today, day one, eighteen more days to go,

  Eighteen more days of being twenty-seven!

Another year’s gone by—nothing to show!

  ’Dreamt of Success one year short of eleven,

Not the kind that augments the bank account,

  (Though her visit would be quite welcomed,)

But more the brand that scales bright heaven’s mount’,

  Treasure even crowned-saints declare profound!

Blessed is the man who serves his God unfettered;

  No earthly obligations weigh him down;

He does his Master’s biddings undeterred;

  This is Success—a better is not known!

     In Eighteen days, I’ll be a year older;

     To court Success, I’ll need to be wiser!