Soft whimpers echo through the night,
A sniveling sound of pure distress.
Once proud and strong, now piteous sight,
A soul reduced to such excess.
With running nose and tearful eyes,
The sniveler weeps for what’s no more.
Each sob a feeble compromise,
Between the strength they had before.
O weakness, how you’ve claimed your prey,
With snuffling cries and trembling chin.
Where courage stood just yesterday,
Now only snivels creep within.
We mourn the loss of sturdy will,
As whining tones betray defeat.
This sniveling state, so weak and shrill,
Where tears and mucus sadly meet.
Yet hope remains for those who fall,
To rise above this sniveling state.
To stand up straight and walk tall,
And leave behind this weeping fate.
So let us bid farewell to snivels,
Those sounds of sorrow, weak and low.
And seek instead life’s higher levels,
Where strength and dignity may grow.
Bob Lynn / 20-Nov-2024
