Poem By Lawrence S. Pertillar
I live life not to apologize,
For the doing of it.
And as a work-in-progress,
No practice or time to rehearse...
Was I given to get,
To have me judged by anyone...
As doing less than my best or being perfect.
Although I will confess this to express,
It does seem as if...
Those self-righteous declaring themselves perfect,
Seem to make more excuses with them done to do...
With a leaving of a mess they want others to accept.
And...with a doing of their hollow apologies to give,
Very few feel them felt to be real.