Merely Lucky

Madam, I confess to you that mine
Is not a well-wrought life. I cannot say
That it's been hard or shrewdly planned.
What it has been is charmed for reasons
I can't know. I've been poor, but not abject,
Injured, but, it seems, repaired. The aches
I have are common things, the ones those
My age tend to have, and I have pills
To lessen them. My house is fine. It's old
And pleasant. All my children speak
To me. I have nice toys. I don't work
Much. I neither scheme to rise,
Nor struggle. What I do is sit and brood.
I must confess that I'm depressed,
Despite these things I should enjoy.
Perhaps I feel I don't deserve them,
Having never bothered to construct
A well-wrought life.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2020-03-08 at 12:54

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