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by Phibby Venable
I worry a bone of discontent
and bustle it into quick veins –
that empty into mountain streams
that flow toward lakes of cold regret.
Sometimes a dream of spice & spite
will cast my heart to shadowed realms
till I rebuke the angry bite
of some wrong or remembered slight
For often I, hopeful & strong –
simply forget what thing was wrong.
Until again, beguiled by life,
I feel that all is going right.
Foolish to be so easily pleased –
by colorful flowers and Autumn's breeze.