A Fundraiser's Dilemma (or, Not Exactly Sonnet 18)

Shall I beseech thee on a Summer’s day
With tales of how our fund’s grown temperate?
Or send roughshod appeals that graph how May
Brought greater need than any month to date?
Sometime too haughty is this heart of mine,
And oft’ is its perception coarsely trimmed;
And every need for need sometime withdraws,
By chance or truth’s prevailing light is dimm’d:
But thy eternal Foundation won’t fade
Nor lose possession of that grant thou payest;
Nor Charity brag thou wanderest in its shade
When with eternal funds thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So live these needs, and these gives life to thee.



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Much thanks to Ol' Bill for penning Sonnet 18, borrowed and abused above with neither permission nor remorse. Let the Bard's ghost take it up with me, if 'e will.