Most can speak yet few can sing,
because fate can be a fickle thing.
But if by chance or if it by fate,
results will come and will not wait.
We all get sick though not our yearning.
Some get battered by never learning.
Most get better most get well,
for some it lingers, feeling like hell.
Whilst a moderate wind sets a boat’s pace,
a mighty gale will end their race.
And the autumn breeze’s enjoyed by all.
But pray for calm to end our fall.