The Optimist


I walk down this path with others daily

As they complain of the dust and pebbles

That do strain their eyes and feet unfairly;

They all long to live dreams found in fables.

 

Birds’ calls, they say, grate on their nerves and ears.

They want the ripe fruits but not thorns on plants.

They scream the loads are more than they can bear;

All they perceive are stinging bees and ants.

 

On the pebbles I can see higher ground;

Birds’ calls mellow the stirrings in my soul.

In the ants and bees wisdom can be found:

Fold hands, get stuck; hard work in wealth plays a role.

 

Where others see the yucky sludge-filled bogs;

I see mushrooms thriving on some dead logs.

 

{THE VERSE IS TAKEN FROM MY COLLECTION: COLOURS (OF LIFE, LOVE AND FAITH).}

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