W .E. Henleys poem: INVICTUS Out Of The Night That Covers Me Black As A Pit From Pole To Pole, I Thank Whatever Gods There Be For My Unconquerable Soul. In The Fell Clutch Of Circumstance I Have Not Winced Or Cried Aloud; Under The Bludgeoning Of Chance My Head Is Bloody But Unbowed. Beyond This Vale Of Doubt And Fear Looms But The Terror Of The Shade And, Yet, The Passing Of The Years Finds, And Shall Find Me, Unafraid. It Matters Not How Straight The Gate How Charged With Punishments The Scroll I Am The Master Of My Fate, I Am The Captain Of My Soul.

Posted by Deleted (9e2476b2) at 2020-11-21 14:42:08 UTC