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“A brave spirit struggling with adversity is a spectacle for the Gods” Seneca

It is not in the glare of glory
When the crowds are at your feet,
Or the city’s bells are pealing
As you mount the victor’s seat.

All that is but a passing show;
A fleeting flash of light;
A rain-drop glistening in the sun;
A shooting-star at night.

True greatness lies in what’s not seen,
And all that no one knows:
The long, dark years of fruitless toil,
The pain that never shows.
The loneliness and misery,
The heartaches and the fears,
The waiting and the trait’rous doubts:
The constant wearing cares.
The agony of hoping
For a dawn that never comes,
And the mocking face of failure
And rejections down-turned thumbs.

There reigns the greatest glory,
Though roses are not flung:
In valleys where the sun ne’er shines,
And victories are not sung

From the recently published anthology of my poems – ‘Vignettes of boyhood’.