We pull the name as stunt,
celebrating each success with beautiful font.
But forgetting the mission,
Sleeping over the vision.
We write our names with chalk,
because all we do is talk.
We get so busy running the raise of intelligence
Wherein our intelligence is dumb,
without our names in the mouth of other after we are gone.
Less we forget the talk,
but go after the war.
Running aground does who fail to hold on to the fort,
Truly am not saint,
Because I have my own fault,
My character with many tort.
But there is a need to shake,
An up-root to make,
All for the mission proud
Alas all man’s heart to mission is love,
But all they do is being quiet as nought,
Until the mission is dealt a big knock
And die a death of peace not.
Oh visioneer jolt;
run like the bolt,
run so as not your vision to be mock.
Forgetting the silent in visionless dock,
Since he wishes to die a crock.