March 28, 2022
I’ll never write a masterpiece,
Or win a Nobel prize for peace.
My books won’t make the New York Times.
I’m quite content to weave my rhymes.
I write to soothe, to feel less stressed,
Words help my soul find quiet rest.
The words I write I often share
Perhaps touch someone unaware,
Someone perhaps I’ll never meet,
Won’t have the chance to hug and greet.
I pray my words help ease their mind.
Take time to pause, reflect, unwind.
This life is not a sprint to race,
Does not demand a frantic pace.