life is not an away game, come home. run though -- like a child through the grass because all this won't last with stroke of divine brush those hopes once stirred by gusts of wins though they come again and again they end. who are you then? where do you stand-- rock or sand? on the Hope of hopes or hopes of land? does He call you friend? do you know where you'll go in the end? hit send on the letter to the Editor tell Him it's been hell on earth how nothing is enough for her