*114** bittersweet

"Life is short, though I keep this from my children.  

Life is short, and I've shortened mine 

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised way, 

a thousand delicious ill-advised ways

I'll keep from my children.  The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that's a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake.  Life is short and the world 

is at least half terrible, and for every kind 

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children.  I am trying 

to sell them the world.  Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones:  this place could be beautiful,

right?  You could make this place beautiful.

(Maggie Smith)

 

Current mood.

Comments

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Great poem. Love your black & white quilt.

[Deb]

and when the children are all grown up you will still see them as 'your children' and continue to keep all the crummy stuff to yourself