A few handfuls….

Let go your two-fisted man-handle; the grasping.

Waken complacent stumps; set aside your famine.

Take straight view of what remains ahead:

When things work for one;  they work for none.

.

Please take hold of my hand. Once young,

and now being old, I will tell you stories.

Choice tales make simple children wise;

and shape better princes from mere men.

We’ll gather threads, and twine them

Walk the road;  lean in, take hold together.

Frequent falling, fear, and callous cold,

 on shared path,  fade forgotten behind us.

Taste one sweet handful of quietness;

Its richness dangles just within our reach

Rouse stumbling feet; waken fumbling fingers;

Let go all blustering, noisy, empty wind.

And rest…

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