I used to feel that I was owed
A living to fulfil my needs,
But, though my seed was thickly sowed,
It soon succumbed to choking weeds.

I wandered in a desert place
And undertook each servile task,
But no one ever saw my face
Because I always wore a mask.

My pride was just as much on show
As if I’d set the world on fire;
I wanted everyone to know
The station I’d assumed was dire.

And so I could have lived and died
And thereby killed the truth inside.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash

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