By: Jacob Raymond La Mar
Enclosed in a box,
Underground where it sits,
Where never a whisper is heard,
Where no lamp is lit.
Plans sit in waiting,
Enclosed on all sides,
Ambition rests in slumber,
And eventually dies.
Still the box sits,
Age after age,
Rocks will turn to dust,
Wood will burn,
Metal will rust
But the wooden box stays.
And inside, the ambition,
That will always remain.
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