I think I could, but don’t know how.
My worry is for you.
In spite of me, what’s mine I give.
It’s simply what I do.
I never ever cut the line,
Hold patience,’til my turn.
Despite my heart, I will concede,
Where other’s wants concern.
A saintly take, this way of mine?
Or, path of self-deprecation?
No concept is as foreign to me,
As the act of self-preservation.