I am hated, not loved, but why?
I try to help; I really try.
Yet each time, my efforts fall short,
And I don’t know why.
It has to be my fault, something I do.
What it is I wish I knew.
Only then can I try to make amends.
I ponder over each occasion:
When was the point it started to turn
And anger and hate came into play?
Was I overbearing, playing a heavy hand?
Or being too laid back, losing command?
There is such a narrow dividing band
To be a boss in any business in this land.
2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen
Photo: Pixabay License
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