After work this evening I had to make a dreaded stop at Wal-Mart to pick up a few things -- pet items at one end of the place, grocery items at the other -- so now I'm ready to just kick back and put my feet up.
In the interest of posting something that wouldn't require me to engage my brain tonight, I hit the old-poem folder again. This time I pulled out a poem I wrote for a friend in 1989, just a few words of advice when I thought she was about to take a flying leap off the deep end. Let's just say it was an expression of a lesson I'd learned the hard way.
The rose blooms only briefly
till its petals fall and leave behind
the memories and the thorns.
Cultivate the ivy.
No bold flowers there,
but one small sprig whose tendrils
reach a solid structure
grows to cover, brick by brick,
the tallest tower wall.
The rose’s scent seduces,
but its flower wilts when touched;
the ivy touches roughness
and discerns a place to hold.
Love grows leaf by leaf.