Time is soaring, but knack is wan away,
As all humans are run by forlorn and fall;
Parallel to shadowy, privation and curse,
We are jostled for violence, commotion and hush.
Not even a solo rest delicately set to the fore,
To bestow modesty and valor allied in score.
For kindling love, sanctity and vigor of mind,
The high whack for mores and legacy declined.
Along despondent paths, moved by home and hearth,
From hunting to seizing, we drive morale to dearth.
Through the clear exhorting and trailing of funds,
Remains no issue of morals, even care and trust.
Time is art, but a flare if it is ranging glow,
Apropos thoroughness, waiting to gently blow
The destiny of search amid the golden age—
Where the crooks move along in heavy entourage.
Yet like symbolizing honor, the flags of red and green
Rise to blow our soil, to harmonize sanctity and discipline.
We cross the tavern to move with beauties of truth,
For peace and happiness, by everlasting its growth.
