‘tis not to say the sun this morn
warns of mayhem and dismay
and yet the rays that filter in
burn holes within contentment.
Small at first it’s like they are
merely there to pattern life
because each hole can easily be
hidden with a bauble, bead.
But woe the one who thought to be
unfettered by those sparkling beads
that were not needed yesterday
and found their way into the past.
Best to be if I had known
still possessed of baubles, beads,
that in the manner of belief
can be adjusted and renewed.
And so of holes the learning curve
decrees I shop the malls of mind
and spend the effort for rewards
of re-adorned contentment!