It’s like a meandering path –
A constant wax and wane.
One day this blazing sun will laugh,
The next will shower pain.
Where soil is seeded
For want to grow
Nurture is needed
Yet droughts are woe.
You sing it song and music too
And books a-plenty –
Your job to do.
Yet life won’t grow
Without a pair
Who, stooping low
Lay joys to bare
And share their glee,
Their smiles so coy
As they see
This life – enjoy!
A sapling lies amongst the grass
And for their part, they do not pass
A thought or worry, no shred of doubt
For all the things that come about.
A drought-called sun that beat-eth down
The storm-clad clouds, their foreign frown,
Or winds that shear and shred and tear
And bring some misery, lay it bare.
No length of labour, or strength of will
Can ward this evil, deadly ill
That destiny can lay-eth bare –
To survive such storms, now that’s just rare!
So ponder this and ponder loud
But don’t you dwell on every cloud
For most don’t bring a threat of rain
Embrace the toil, don’t fear some pain.
And for your part, remember this
That not all farming delivers bliss,
Or bounty, crop, just withered leaf –
Such is life, quite the thief.
When you recall the sound of storm
Move to that which yet is warm –
The laughter, love and time well-shared
And that for which you once yet cared.
Armchair Poetry 