They Will All Wear Out Like Cloth, The Moth Will Eat Them Up.

The Lord is my Help
i have said my pieces
in my daily trances
there are angry men
who shall not forget me

but shall i worry then
if sometime i fall and
then they will tread upon
me with their furious feet

i shall not be destroyed
for the Lord is with me.

His moths are ready
to eat them all
rags to his face
rotten clothes
inside canals

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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