Victims of Avarice

Falling fifty fathoms deep In clutches of despair,

So it appears to be at end of everyday.

To drop on pillow without even a faintest ray,

Of hope to penetrate and repair

A web of treachery around that slowly weave,

We are but victims of others avarice

Of Hearts that growst dark with malice.

Yet this torture and torment may grieve,

But there’s One who knowth all and hath scales in hand,

When thou pleadst before Him.He never turnth thee down

Not only replenished in courage to stand,

As bright as before and fresh without a frown.

Patience and tolerance are values of grand,

And thou shall reap only what thou hast sown.