Early one morning I heard the crowing of a young rooster announcing
his vibrato for all to hear.
It mattered not that there were no hens
in sight, the redundancy of his crow was to let everyone know that he
had arrived to claim this was his territory, but was it of no avail, for his crow was lost in the morning mist as the sun dried up his story.

The fading boast was dry as toast,
because there were no chickens in the yard
to appreciate his pompous boast.

O that men would have the faith to not give in, but to accept that his
divine destiny does not belong to him.
For he feeds from the trough of divine providence as the plate from which he must agree.
The dish of divine providence is not easy for men to digest.
It is full of twists and turns that are aimed to distract with illusions of self-importance and pompous greed. But to the man who stays his course and does not look back is a man who will succeed for his masters to rejoice.

The decades take their toll of hearing, seeing, and the ability to perform a simple task.
Do we give in to these afflictions or do we keep going
with the conviction that the divine providence has been served because
we have faith that can move mountains regardless of the situation.

Like the rooster we seek our highest elevation and cry out for salvation no matter if we not see nor hear, there is one who cares that no man shall perish; we are given a choice; to run like cowards or persevere in circumstance and stay the course.
Terrance Tracy

Terrance Tracy

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-roosters-crows/