In harsh-time what if I tell you - that, Your precious, one among all that make it out the draft. So precious, not of stones but of intangible, Quality, a must when speaks of one. Could be worth golds of golds, but to put a price is to be a fool, Quantity, one per head, but can weight a wool. Each gift of sight and breath, holds freewill, Each life struggle is a gift from goodwill. All minds hold battle's of their own, all from within, Some left to loose, some stay to win. Mind of each own to think, So alike in a way but not every one have a twink. To process a thought, could be simple yet could be haunting, Voices of our own, could be pleasant yet could be fearing, Not to process a thought, could be silent yet be headful, Voices of our own, could shut-off yet be lifeless.