9/12/12
RESOLVE
(a Sonnet)
Betrayed, it seemed, by Life and circumstance;
Not bate of beauty, charm, or noble rank
Dealt stinted grace by fickle happenstance;
By mean and straight intent, or cruel prank.
But Life grants no sure number for our days;
And pledges not success without a fight.
A chance, is all, to find our means and ways;
To set our goal and reach it if we might.
No fear I count for intrigue or romance.
I’ll quaff lot’s chalice till the dregs be drank.
Come strife or frays, I’ll steadily advance;
And sing with praise when Providence I thank.
My choice I make to race toward what is right;
To reach, and then surpass, the greatest height.
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