By Rev. Erman Bradley
With mouth turned down his face was sad,
One wondered what could be so bad.
As to produce downcast countenance.
Was there a battle and no defense?
What disturbed one's concentration,
That resulted in joy's oblation?
It wasn't obvious. That's for sure,
However, diagnosis is needed for a cure.
And so a question soon was asked,
As in waves of sorrow this one basked.
Tell me, please, I'm listening, Friend,
To learn what brought your unhappy end.
Very slowly in whispered tones,
Came forth a tale laced with moans.
Slowly at first then word followed word,
With a tale interesting to be heard.
Someone introduced a game called "Chess"
To the beginner, It seemed a mess.
There were weak Pawns and one strong Queen.
Other powerful pieces were in between.
One would think if he played enough,
One might leap over loser's gulf,
But, alas, game after game was a loss.
The other player was always boss!
The friend then smiled and said,
"A game may end, but isn't dead.
It's not a loss and you're not burned,
If you're thankful for what you've learned.