Lack Of Faith.

The assessments were nearer
Needed my scrolls to clear ’em,
An old comrade wanted to borrow them,
I searched my bag and gave it to her
We had a pretty uncanny past.

Time to leave
We packed our bags
On parole from the dreaded prison
All aboard the bliss bus
I conspicuously contemplated
I had lent something to a mate.

Awed, I fell to the ground
Laughing very profound
I go back to the place I detested,
Running around,
She was nowhere to be found.

I come back to the happy bus
Take my bag and sit in disgust
All odds against me I check my bag
Only to find out that the scrolls were at hand.

Tears of joy falling down my face
That lass made me feel graced
Restored my faith in all humanity,
I was to be blamed for my imprudence.


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