To Courage

You fine and dear friend,

Whose nature ne'er bend,

And life lived out through countless being.

I look to the ground,

Without admitting sound

From my mouth, my hope is to not flee.

Give me virtue, give me strife,

Give me the ecstasy of life

And forge within my marrow the stuff of saints!

For this place has made me sad

And the hatred displayed by those mad

Men has fleshed out my beauty and forever taints.

I require a piece of you,

While admitting faults like dew

That cover my inept and wayward heart.

O, give me strength

To repent in length

And change my hideous being into art.