Imperfection (A Gloss)

Imperfection (A Gloss)

We cannot crown ourselves with everything,
Nor can we coax the Fates for us to quarrel:
No matter what we are, or what we sing,
Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel.
…E.A. Robinson “Three quatrains”.

We cannot crown ourselves with everything,
Nor ever look far beyond the task at hand
In spite of where we go or what we bring
Our tunes are played by a greater band
And our dreams disappear like quicksand.
We cannot crown ourselves with everything

Nor can we coax the fates for us to quarrel:
They have it within themselves to roll
Our dice on the harsh green felt of sorrow
And chance determine destiny of the soul
We cannot tally tomorrow’s fateful toll
Nor can we coax the fates for us to quarrel:

No matter what we are or what we sing
Numbered plays spawn our accidental days-
Abort the dealing, the clever wheeling,
Haphazard reeling of simplistic ways.
Dark clouds obscure the brightest rays
No matter what we are or what we sing

Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel
A cutworm hidden in every rose
Trusted neighbors less than moral
A beautiful child that slowly grows
When unexpected, time will expose,
Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel