The possibility that this is all there is to life confounds me!
If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.
Rajesh, Everything depends on what you mean by this...
ReplyDeleteMy 'this' can be quite busy, filled with things I have to do in the form of chores for the family, the house, church, and others. Sometimes I wonder if what I do makes a difference - perhaps it dosen't except to my family. But if there were not a lot of other people like me doing what they can to help, then the act of omission would be noticable.
ReplyDeleteI love to be out doors, and when I feel a little disheartened I take a breath of fresh air and somehow I smile.