How sad when storyteller spinning life
does not become a writer of renown
but gifts appear to be by gutting knife
distributed so few win triple crown.


How sorrowful when soft insistent roar
is crying out unheard for help to cope,
too easy to forget to sing once more
the comforting sweet songs of love and hope.

How solemn when plain truth is recognized
that might have smoothed a rough relationship,
but early caution is less exercised
than passion shouting out unthinking quip.

Could we but be our younger selves again,
we might make better choices now and then.