Weary of striving, the pretty picture, the fond
hope of this time, this time and having sent
my heart forth, cap in hand again and again only
to see it trudge back bedraggled I feel finally
ready in this last third of life to settle quietly
into the softness of the days, armchair traveler,
cup of tea, steadfast friends, feasting on the
imperfect pleasures of a simple life
tasting the exquisite grandeur
of contentment.
Do we ever (let’s just think about this)
truly understand one another or are we
always just a half step off key however
unknowingly a shade sharp a little flat
missing a beat or two maybe a whole bar
perhaps even changing from
three four to four four and while we’re at it
putting our own fine tuning to dynamics
(maybe a crescendo just there)
altering the tempo to suit the mood
adding an introduction perhaps a coda
writing variations on the theme or
what the heck changing the theme itself
ultimately hearing a tune that is no longer
the other’s but fully our own.