Good Day

movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
edited October 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Good Day

I got this weight
Off my shoulders,
Water barrels
strapped to
worn oak,
And as the
strain creeps away
it's easy to say
That today
Can be called
A good day

A sumpter
Trots amongst
Creeping shadows.
The Albatross
Wings above,
Until the piercing
Of divulging rays
Forces it to
lurch away
It's easy to say
That today
Can be called
A good day

Plague and
Open buboes
Upon back
Laden with clay;
A moment's
Respite
Makes today,
What some may
Call,
A good day.

In the end,
when the expression
no longer has
meaning
and the rock
is pressed
against your
shoulder,
The walk down
The mountain
May be
What constitutes
A good day.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam
Post edited by Unknown User on

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