Today's poem is by Carl Dennis
If time were in fact like money,
We could bank a day like this one
That as yet we have no plans for
And spend it later when we were ready,
Along with any interest that's piled up.
Instead, we're obliged to live it now.
Should we break it down, as we've done
With other days, into desk work and yard work,
Supper and post-supper pastimes,
Or devote it all to making a plan
For one bold enterprise that begins tomorrow?
What would that be exactly? Something more,
It would seem, than merely doing the old work
With a better attitude. Why can't this day
Be like the one our predecessors devoted
To outfitting a wagon train and heading off
Toward the lush land of the middle border?
How easy then to prove we're making progress
When another evening means another inch
Marked on the map from here to there.
No need to rush so long as our pace
Is steady, allowing us to arrive
Before the trail is obscured by snow,
The grass buried too deep for the oxen.
Time then to unload our wagons and marvel
How many items have come through intact,
Though an heirloom bowl has a hairline crack
Running rim to rim. However lonely we feel
As the wind ruffles the tall grass, we'll agree
The spot should begin to feel like home
After a little labor, a little time.
Then we'll drink a toast to the day long gone
When our journey began, the one that now
We're letting slip through our fingers
Here where we can't postpone it.
If anyone claims the loss isn't real,
Let him step forward now.
Let him try to convince us time is a well
Dug in our own yard and always brimming,
However often we dip our cup.
Copyright © 2010 Carl Dennis All rights reserved
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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