The Bitter Spice (poem)
My son I weave a tale about a man
Someone who used his time to do his best
Who tried to always answer yes I can
Tomorrow thereād be time enough to rest
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There always seemed to be a world of need
Another soul whose hands stretched out toward me
Another cry for help which I did heed
How many dreams did I help to set free
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Yet as the father reached out toward his son
He was aware of who had paid the price
So many sought his help except for one
And here it was the bitterest of spice
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My son I leave to this now full grown lad
Who turned politely said I love you dad