Pride

The pride that makes us think we know
Does not avail us, in the end;
We seek to learn, but even so,
It all is hardly worth one friend
Who we might lose along the way
Because of careless word, or deed:
And pride becomes its own reward,
As off itself it’s left
To feed

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

1 thought on “Pride”

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