Today's poem is by Marg Ryan

Last Resort
       

If given enough time,
birds might remember
the songs of their past.
Lessons learned. So, one blesses them as one walks
beneath the denuded canopy. Remembering,
as a wise person said, It is always thus—crests and trenches,
change she is a' coming, this perpetual return.
A small inner voice nods in agreement, offers homilies:
This too shall pass. Nothing new under yonder sun,
hold tight, to the light, for just ahead, it is there,
at the tunnel's end, backlit and brilliant
that thing most feared or craved,
depending on one's philosophy.
So, build your defenses up during the lull
for just around the corner, in that
place too close for comfort, where comfort
is no comfort at all, and the hunkering down is done
as a first choice or last resort.

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Copyright © 2024 Marg Ryan All rights reserved
from Main Street Rag
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission