Life’s a poem

I can't remember who said this.

Shakespeare? A poem told by

A poor poet who struts and frets.....?

 

Anyway, life is a poem of sorts

Told in stanzas.

Seven, aren't there,

According to our inimitable Bard.

 

And we spend our time

Trying to get it to rhyme

To sort out the meaning,

And to get the rhythm right

 

And sometimes we get it right,

Like a bird taking flight,

Like a flower in the light,

Like the sun in the night.

And sometimes

We don't

 

So, if life really is a poem

We’d better get goin'

 

No, that doesn't work.

It doesn’t really rhyme,

And the rhythm’s all wrong

And it really doesn’t make sense.

 

But life is like that sometimes.

 

But the metaphor remains