After all the rushing, the extremes and the thrills,
After all the ups and downs, declivities and hills,
I’ve shot enough wild rivers, forded my last rill.
I do not mind the still life, that cup that I must fill.
Though my pace has slackened, still I do not stop
filling up my cup until it’s reached the top.
If it then spills over, what more can I ask?
Dealing with the overflow will be a welcome task.
This poem, although it was posted and received some comments, suddenly disappeared overnight and when I woke up this morning, I found it in drafts and completed it, reposting it under a different name. Then, just tonight, Forgottenman found this original version in drafts, where, even though I couldn’t find it there this morning, it had somehow been mysteriously relocated. So here it is again, with the same opening lines as the second version. Weird, weird. If you want to see the second version of this poem, rewritten this morning and renamed “Everything,” go HERE.