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It's in the clutter and mess, not sterile tidiness, that memories are made...That reminds me; I noticed a coffee spill on the stairs where someone dashed to see if Canada scored;) In spite of Canada's win Slovak goaltender Denis Godla was unbelievable!!
Dear Life, (or is it Dear Me?)
If I would study you too long
And hard then you would never be
Quite fit enough to hang upon
Time’s wizened walls of
For scrutiny reveals your flaws
Then fear would be the death of me
And I would never write because
I’d pity you in
Once flesh and bones, old poets dipped
Their quills into your heart-shaped sea
Braving the tide as soul-blood dripped
From fingertips to
For imperfection is the grace
Whereby a poet is set free
To humbly, reverently trace
Life’s love-lined face in
© Janet Martin
Off to the music that makes the poetry that makes the memories…or, is it the memories that make the poetry that makes the music...;-)?