Son of Fortune
When I consider all that I’ve man mangled,
began and foreswore, left half-assembled,
started and quit, started and quit,
a kid riding a bike for the first time
and bashing it for a scraped knee;
All that I’ve unjustly darkened in
frustration or despair, some weird
wellspring of the worst animal fear…
And I step back and look at what I’ve kept.
Then I believe I’m the son of fortune,
one of the luckiest people alive.
To damage so much and yet
to build well, too. And to continue
to nurture what has earned its attention.
#### Poet’s Notes ####
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(I won’t delete rude comments, I’ll just reuse them in a poem — with attribution. ;-))
The image of the initial draft is below: