Rolling
on her mat….
One septuagenarian all by herself,
mood of
calm and detached in green shelf,
stored by
experience bitter and vast,
no
matter how much storms rise aghast!
All years
go by leaving marks and shocks,
how much
this innocent and unexpected blocks,
fish and
crab in net to be burned alive,
some
force pulls out playful yet make them thrive;,
we are
here why we know not, she ponders,
submitting
to a force beyond our ruggers,
rolling
again on a mat tattered and old,
with
thinking anew all set for harmless and
gold.
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