An ostrich or a lion?: A poem 

Does hurt heave an angry soul? 

Does anguish leave the bitter old? 

When fate rubs salt on wounds that are raw 

but you are calm, it’s an act deserving awe 

When love breaks you, like it makes you 

And you begin to think nothing is true 

Can tears take away the tide of grief? 

They may be futile and a little too brief 

When you are so sad, is it time to shift the cam? 

Circumstance is a battering ram going wham! 

Would you talk it over like a mower, or think talk is just ham? 

Or do you just think of yourself as a sacrificial lamb? 

A storm that hit shook and took all your trees 

And hope seems too late now, even in mellow breeze 

An ostrich fearfully buries its head in the sands 

What do simple folk do with no courage in their glands? 

You may as well speak the language of firebrand 

And take circumstance and destiny by the hand 

There is a bottle of spirit decorated in bows of riband 

And it could give you the needed strength to withstand