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No joy in being right


I wake up in the night
No joy in being right

Shut your eyes
And close your ears
As it tumbles down like tears

The news that burns your soul
The things we can’t control

Uphill all the way
Every minute of the day

Big dreams and little toils
A sunny day, a patch of soil

Way leads on to way
When there’s nothing 
More to say

by Richard W. Bray

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This entry was posted on October 25, 2023 at 1:15 am and is filed under Emily Dickinson, Poetry, Robert Frost. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.