'Hand We'Re Dealt' Poem by Linda Winchell

Sometimes we don’t fee that we’re dealt
The cards that we thought were in our deck.
They somehow tend to fall in a different order
And choke us, like a noose around our neck.

Tightening its grip at times
Suffocating all of what we thought we knew.
Cards now placed face down on the table
Hiding their value from your view.

Then one by one you turn them over
Revealing cards fate finally dealt.
Realizing that their face value shown
Was, and had already been painfully felt.

But this may be only one hand or two?
There are more in life yet to deal.
And maybe with your next set of plays
A pot of gold you may end up to steal.