Being no more than a sentence,
I've lost my mind,
looking for the perfect paragraph.
Living in a rhyme
which relates so little to past times
of strength or wisdom.
Casually caressing the moment,
I've seen magic and misery.
I'm sure, I don't know even half of that which I speak.
Living so far from home
left little time for repentance over win/lose situations.
In the mystery of my being I find reluctance and hesitations.
In the heat of each moment,
I want to be sure of what I know.
I've been told I choose a hard way to go.
Nancy McEldowney
1975
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