A fox has no expectations of what lies ahead.
He trails down the path where the lilacs brush across his
face,
and it is always a new hello.
He deals with the seasons as they come.
A symbol of resilience he does what he must.
He has a way of enduring the shiver of winter’s sting,
and he survives to enjoy the summer’s breeze.
Never consumed with the memory of anguishing struggle
he moves onward.
I wish I could be like him,
but instead, I cry over letters that never arrived.
Every loss is a memento I store away like a ticket to a rare
ballet,
for my heart is a feeble handbag filled with a quandary of old
things
that were never mine to cherish., yet I fumble through it anyway.
Again I am lost over heartbreak like a girl that has astigmatism and yet no glasses,
I wander and yes, I am lost.
Somehow the fox has a deep and clear vision
of where he needs to be.
I am busy staring at an old crinkled map I cannot even read.
Linking today with Shay's Word List where this week she is featuring the poet Amy Lowell. I had never read her writing, but was delighted to find that I love her poetry! Thank you Shay for another wonderful prompt!
Come join us!
