Turned over and overturned like the calender pages
With time everything we are, just ages.
Over the years, those small frustrations sum up
and glisten as golden memories that we look up.
We are defeated to within the perimeter of influence
and wallow in the ripples we create, taking pride
reading and re-reading the glory, we assure ourselves
of the contentment about the right things we did.
We are provincial optimists, hoping and groping
Finding joy in small things, marking them like the
timber to be felled, we go about experiencing.
Infinite of infinitesimal things there are!
There are flashes of bird's eye view at times
but we reject them for want of peace.
We are bound within the fringe
of the light through magnifying glass.
Out of tempest of youth we cross over
but soon we move into focus with light
around us and within us.