Richard Louis Desormeaux Cox

Realette






Work is a toil, a labour of life.
Money a pain, a worry, a strife.
Cast from me the chains of this world.
Presence paths to destinies uncurl.

Where do I go which path to take,
in fear of procuring lifes mistake.
Take my hand and follow me there,
uncertainties footsteps do we dare.

Unknowingly onward we tread,
as I speak what appears in my head.
Reaching indeterminate goal,
is there enough to fulfil the soul?.

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