as I listened
to an old story from the Emerald Isle,
enjoying the beautiful language, the vivid
images,
listening to the one who told me these things
I’ve been
walking down this roaad—
This mix of
a road—for almost a score.
And along
the way, I’ve been tolad,
“Sometimes
you’re relaxed; sometimes you’re sore.”
Then I’ve
been told, that as I walk the path I chose,
Times are
when doors open and doors would close.
Gifts have
wings, agile and silent, poised for flight
To leave as
it arrived, no chance for a second sight.
I’d catch a
thorn in my foot, get my hand to bleed,
I’d learn
about the journey through experience, through deed.
I rejoice
in the results that come out of my toil:
Like a raindrop
welcomed by a parched soil.
I have
questions, but no answers. I seek continuously.
Then I’m
told, “Yes” or “No” or “Wait patiently.”
I receive
gifts when I am ready, when they suit me.
If I don’t,
I trust the Higher Power, I trust the plans for me.
Yesterday
is dust, a lesson left in its wake;
I enjoy the
gift I received, not with a furrowed brow:
I enjoy the
gift—the present—now.
