I have no regrets at all. None. I consider myself to be the luckiest old broad on two feet. @bettywhite
I have wept for some doors that have been shut.
For the remembrance of circling crows, the slightly ajar iron gates that house the long ago, dead.
For the remembrance of four legged siblings…true to themselves and unabashed. I relive their memory…everyday.
Oh, the wonder years, living among loose chickens and lazy llamas.
The dead end dirty and dusky roads that had lay before me.
Those lanes with promise of green, glistering, fields.
I have wept for the Shakers, the dance, the waves of neighbors passing, as time grows old.
April showers, how repentant. As if I eluded February…to stay in such a bogus fight.
How dare my carriage be discovered so lusterless with such spite.
Gregarious women warriors did not sit pantry-side…deliberating yeast for might.
No fireside banter…wronged versus right.
No paragon in which to huddle.
For the many, the cosmopolitan, visibility a squeamish black hole.
Their consumption’s a salty wine from abiding the fold.
Who will douse the sweat from my brow…as I, grow old?
All forms of casualty had been deposited in the leftover store.
Many kinds of grave mistakes…placed in a rusty meat grinder and set aside for fast food.
My self-indulgence, to my surprise, had not been so easy to feed.
I began to lay my body in state…state of conflict.
I went to the doctor to shred all copies of my aches and ailments.
He had been in awe of the toxic difficulties…and, staying sane.
With floods approaching, have I cleaned my act up in time.
At the foot of hazard gates, is it all just justice…a little too late.
All the warning signs…
Could it be I just do not care?
Had I prepped my body for doomsday sooner…
Would my ignorance have had less flair?