Lesson Number One

 a poem written during the day’s early hours,

 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;

Tomorrow is a prospect, I have a path to take.

I enjoy the gift I received, not with a furrowed brow:

I enjoy the gift—the present—now.