Meandering Poem by B. V. Dahlen

Meandering



Aging is chancy.
You never know
What’s waiting
Around each turn
Of life’s contorted path.
A pothole,
A vista,
Oasis or mire,
Shrouded until
We stumble there,
To savor,
Untangle,
To struggle,
Or bask.
Each morning presents
A challenge,
Or prize.
Some days
I wish
That aging was effortless,
But then I remember
How bored
I would be.

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B. V. Dahlen

B. V. Dahlen

Hampton Roads, Virginia USA
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