A Poem for a November Sunday

Today is November 1, which means it's the start of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) for 2020.  For the last couple of years, I've given it a try, and been successful posting something every day.  So I figured I'd try again this year.  I'm not promising anything, but I do like trying this - it's a good challenge to myself.  But just so you know, it may well mean that you'll get what you get, if you know what I mean!

Today I'm sharing a poem that a friend posted the other day on Facebook that I just really really like.  I hope you'll enjoy it as well.

Good Bones, by Maggie Smith

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

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously 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.