Bare limbs and bird song…
The sun finds gold in newly fallen snow;
another week of freeze until February.
The lore of a groundhog is a grand distraction.
We feast on the fruit of our labors. No need
to rue the withered bloom; spring will come again.
Treasons, tensions, masquerades;
seasons pass. Each must take the litmus test;
how much difference will it make
a hundred years from now?
Priorities evolve, dissolve; trends change.
Pray we pick our battles wisely.
Picking our battles wisely is a key.
Well said.
Thank you so much.
We are what we fight for; at least that’s how the world sees us. Sometimes, when we forbear tilting at a windmill, the world can get the wrong impression; but we know the difference and that’s what counts.
Michael,
Yes!
Thank you!