Grace of Worry
by Caswell Macomber
Sunday, January 20, 2002
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This grace of worry
this train of my heart to scurry.
In tiny footsteps I look
upon this lake of a joke,
turns into an ocean of a croak.
Itís like the blackest smoke
that whitens the bad pages.
Ohh these rages call at me with no lead.
I think Iím better off dead.
But itís just, red the targets
just a practice that this worries bred.
Yo grace of worry.
These letters the betters just turn blurry.
Grace of Worry tied into knots of spray
with no title itís fatal Ďbo draedelí
of satin brackets black of this bad smokes stoke
tag of these cracks.
Grace of worry.