Another round of months have circled
to seventy eight years for me.
Each day, every week and month abounds with sweet tastes to savor and bitterness enough for my age.
Sighs toast memories,
salted by time,
And the present offers a come hither smile
Then quickly kisses me goodbye.
As my mind seeks to divine,
By ritual and habit
a future full of friends, good wine,
And lands to explore,
I must bow in supplication to fate.
Autumn clocks
warm the days and chill the nights,
brown fractal leaves spread over the ground,
and taunt my expectations
with each tick and tock.
I have seen many fall seasons
though not yet enough,
Every year leaves cover the earth
like the fall before.
I know something of this coming and going.
Mounds of leaves wrap the ground for spring to protect unseen lives,
Some exposed to blowing wind,
shrink back to dust,
with no explanation.
Enough survive
but they are unknown to me now,
And not of my own choosing;
And whether I remain in line
is cloaked in similar mystery,
Though I will chant a prayerful hope.
But today I frolic with fate,
enjoy this moment of play,
seek to discover my part in the human race.
And celebrate this day of grace.
THH
11/17/23
Thoughts Have Hands 