I wrote these back in 1993, but they as true today, entering my second half of life, as they were back then.
I heard my mother’s voice the other day,
Looked into my father’s eyes,
ran a comb through my grandma’s graying hair
and knew a truth I could not disguise.
I gazed upon my inheritance
not measured in silver and gold,
but gauged by my life, manifested so well
in the make of my body and soul.
I have my father’s odd wit, my mother’s soft heart,
where my poetry’s from, I don’t know,
but I carry the hopes and the dreams and the life
of all those who have passed here before.
I am never alone, they are all here with me
in my wrinkles, the shape of my hands.
I take comfort in knowing whatever I do
they have helped to make me what I am.
So, I’ve made some hard choices here in this life
some worthy and some not worthwhile,
but perhaps there is one I’ll regret most of all-
not to live in the eyes of a child.
Another Road Not Taken
Upon a path, not of our choosing
we are set to find the way.
But the steps upon the journey
thus are ours alone to bear.
We stop and gaze at each divergence.
We measure each, the pros and cons.
We can, but one, the path decided,
can, but one, the road to dare.
Yet as we venture, ever questing,
toward our destiny unknown,
We look back on the road not taken
and wonder, had we chosen there.