The trees are full and bursting forth with life
Yet I see not their great anointed worth.
And though I stare into the souls of strife
I see the wonderment brought by rebirth.
Where there is life and joy I oft see none.
Where there is pain and suff’ring I see hope.
Backwards, crazy, confused my thoughts do run?
I deem them not, for crazy helps me cope
For, does it not help to see hope in grief?
And is it not worthless to praise the praised?
The praised know gifts they bear will not be brief
While souls of strife need praise to become raised.
Friend, waste not your breath on those earl’er saved
Work hard to find the worth in those depraved.