THE SPECK AND LOG
Those I look up to
look up to me
and retiring is what I wouldn't do.
Though I'm sometimes weary;
I'm not a machine
onward still I'll press,
till I see nothing but whiteness
and men with wings.
My legs atimes betray me
and people's flaws I sometimes see.
But still I'll obey this parable:
The speck and log.
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