The Gift of Life: a modified Spenserian sonnet

A precious gift is life; and how we use
each moment tells just what we think it’s worth:
a wasted dawn is reproof of our birth,
and consequences that we can’t refuse.

There is no misplaced talent on this earth,
for with each voice a different song is heard;
and it is never useless or absurd.
So sing it out with joy and endless mirth!

To those who mutter, “life is only merde,”
I say, go fertilize your garden bed.
There is no point in living when you’re dead,
so seize each day and give it living words.

For life is made of each of our intents;
against that thought, none can bring evidence.

25 NOV 2002

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