Going through some old docs and came across this poem my grandmother wrote: Stuff to Win By Wilma Jean Roark You hear of others troubles And though you sympathize Somehow, because it isn't you You cannot realize That things that seem so small to you can change a person's life Those things can seem to cause them Unending shame or strife When it's you, yourself, you think No troubles can compare To the ones you're nursing That your own are very rare But in the total scheme of life You hardly count at all And compared to world-wide troubles Your own are very small An error shouldn't brand you An outlaw till you die And you can rise above it If you grit your teeth and try Though you feel low and beaten Why consider giving in? You owe it to yourself to prove You're made of stuff to win! @vatav(Elijah )