I Shall Not Fold

Poem By Keegan Coutriers

O’ Fulfillment do come to be true,
For a hope that weeps expectations of sought,
Tolerances unduly testing the very nature of fateful subdue,
Where grievances of recollection stain my very thought,
Come to be in my favor kindred of my very soul,
That I may give what’s kind to thee of merriments and gaiety,
Too, consent bestow for you, to my goal I mould,
And my awe-struck visage filled with disbelief and sobriety,
If only the fruits of my toil would be realized
O’ How the strength of my will would be greater still,
So as remembrances of yore grudgingly subside,
Quietly lain I but not given to the absence of will,
Of I, shall I this wretched conquest bereave,
Through my appeasing of age and this demise, I thee release.

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