The moral convictions of
Yesteryears,
Sacred and priceless
Though they may be,
Are but the bearers of
Profanity and spurious airs;
They appear harmless
All at once, but maybe
They dissemble
In their wont to persecute
The prosaic habits
Of our everyday selves.
But we assemble
Forever with our fortitude;
In our habit
And our belief in love and ourselves.
