At the table is a fable with the chair of a smile
that the dinner of grief shouldn’t unsettle the bile
Dignity’s gable in the stable of even rank and file
The walls could be too high, but not too high for the stile
In the shower is the plougher with no room for rancour
A flower has timeless power, though it only lives for an hour
Give dull a lull, and make a bower out of a garden dour
Time can steal one’s youth, but can’t make living sour
This night to begin with a shining prayer of composure
That while it lasts, in its cast, be treasured laughter’s measure
Make a bow out of low, hit the dark cloud with an arrow
The rainbow will show, when the blow rings like an echo
A whisper of despair is opening a window to a nightmare
The riptide bravely dared on a surfboard never laid bare
gets the height in one’s flight, that the sharks can’t ever bite
And when departure’s bell chimes, He’ll tell you, you were right
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