The diff’rence ‘tween a man who’s lost

And a man who’s made great success

Is the thought of the end in mind,

Desire burning in his chest.

The knowing that what’s possible

Will most surely be completed

Just how the dream was first conceived

Without the goal conceded

Makes distance from the man who’s won

And the man who’s only not lost.

The first man lives in Spring’s First Bloom,

The last in Winter’s First Frost.

It takes some kind of man to make

An imprint for my eyes to see.

I am a man! Weakness is weak!

Only a strong soul touches me.

And not just that, I too demand

A man true deep as his marrow.

A man who’s bones are hard and yet

His step as light as a sparrow.

I trust no one but those that stand

With their feet firmly on the ground;

Sure, I may slip and I may trip,

But I’ve you whose stature is sound.