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Woe is me, my mother, Because you hast borne me; Of strife to another, Contention all who see. I not lent or borrowed, Yet all of them curse me; Made toil that sorrowed, I wish they let me be. Has He not set me free, Set me free for their good; He has not heard my plea, What the enemy should. In the time of trouble, And the time of distress; Pull me from the rubble, That causes all my stress. For the time of evil, And time of affliction; Are works of the devil, Caused by an addiction. Can one break the iron, Iron made from the steel; It is God to govern, Laws of physics ordeal. Your wealth and your treasures, Gives spoil without price; For causing such pleasures, Making you so entice. God makes me serve my foe, For what they desire; In a land I not know, Turns anger to fire. The Lord remembers me, A vengeance that I take; Allowing to be free, That He does not forsake. But His words have been found, For delighting my heart; With His voice a soft sound, Repeated to impart. Why is unceasing pain, And incurable wound; That healing is in vain, Caused me to be impugned. Copyright © 2020 Richard Newton Sherrer Vote for this poem
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