The Way It Is (From, Poems Of Papa Due) Poem by Peter S. Quinn

The way it is,
For all things passing;
Our time is the bliss,
With each luck classing.
Truth is in the treads,
That spins around to find;
Colors blue and reds,
And everything combined.

Running to their places,
All the making force;
To the open spaces,
What our fate there stores.
Maybe that's why,
Nothing reaches for sure;
It’s given to an open sky,
What each road is for.

The way it goes,
Someday turns again;
Like the wind blows,
Building on each den.
What we take or loose,
Twists or winds in hand;
Life is but a bruise,
Come to understand.