Some days I am hopeful, others not;
some days you see the ebb, others the flow.

The mutter has become a chorus,
facts clearer, but the will,
and willingness to accept change.
I see the clinging,
the apres moi platitudes,
The I got the me, me, mine false certainty.

Maybe, as Thorton Wilder said,
we’ll make it,
by the skin of our teeth.

If so, it won’t be with the bunch we got leading the pack.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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