A whisper on the wind,
A rustle in the trees,
The unspecial blends,
And fades into the breeze.
Like a leaf among the many,
Or a drop within the rain,
The unspecial is forgotten,
And left to feel the pain.
But though their worth be hidden,
And their voice may go unheard,
The unspecial still keep living,
As if their voice still roared.
©jamielong
J