I cannot feel jealous of your success
There is no spark of resentment in my soul.
Others may whisper the triumph is undeserved
But I cannot feel envy of you in my bones.
Because I’ve seen how it looks on you
It suits you fine, but I know
I would feel unnatural in your clothes.
For they would itch and scratch, not fit my skin.
Your Master’s robe would hang upon my bones, but not shine within.
The seeds of triumph, would be stolen not rightly sown.
So I will wait, grow a glory of my own.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.