In times like these — when I’m still coping with the grief surrounding my twin losses in June and I feel as if I’m wilting in the summer heat — it’s good to count blessings. And even better to do so with wit. Ronald Wallace does that for us this week; this one has made me smile for a long time, all the more so because I am dreadfully prone to the overused cliche.
Blessings
occur.
Some days I find myself
putting my foot in
the same stream twice;
leading a horse to water
and making him drink.
I have a clue.
I can see the forest
for the trees.
All around me people
are making silk purses
out of sows’ ears,
getting blood from turnips,
building Rome in a day.
There’s a business
like show business.
There’s something new
under the sun.
Some days misery
no longer loves company;
it puts itself out of its.
There’s rest for the weary.
There’s turning back.
There are guarantees.
I can be serious.
I can mean that.
You can quite
put your finger on it.
Some days I know
I am long for this world.
I can go home again.
And when I go
I can
take it with me.
And all God’s chillun said, "amen, Ron!"
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