Even in pain
or torrent rain,
as well as in delight,

things work their best
when you don’t strain,
and just let be
the throbs, the stabs,
the gem tones
and the dirt-hued drabs,

come they in ones,
or rushing threes,
and then tend each
as lets your own ability. . .

any roughness of the ride
is very apt soon to subside,

as ups and downs
both tend to wane,
and set you on
a better path
that feels
so much more easy
and more right.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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