By John W

By the time of this challenge
Things seemed to have turned,
Mostly for the better, but still a mélange
Of times for which I had always yearned.

To avoid “laurel resting,” a forewarned snare
Meant me making the effort on my part to change me.
To focus upon my shortcomings, not upon others stare,
So that of My Shortcomings (Not Yours) I could be free.

Hardest of those to bid adieu were the ones that fit like a favorite coat
Snug and tightly held, but useless because so tattered and torn.
Still to them, as if in a keep surrounded by an empty moat,
I clung to those defects in fear of my look were they shorn.

The Help I sought would solve my plight.
Always He waited, asking only I cease my fight.

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