Monday, December 04, 2017
The Problem––poem by Dorothy
The Problem
The problem is
that there was
always a price to be paid.
Love and betrayal.
The degrees and the
unbearable job.
The friends who cared
then left,
just went away.
The wonders of nature
then too stiff to walk very far.
Reaching a certain age,
and too many things
not working right.
But truth is
it has been
a splendid ride,
full of exquisite surprise,
unexpected good fortune,
all blessings
one could wish,
friends surrounding me
bearing lit candles
in their hands,
poems falling like flowers
onto my screen,
music so sweet
it was like nectar from unseen realms,
the Beloved
always near.
How lucky
can you be?
Dorothy Walters
November 28, 2018
