Numerous obstructions emerge and decline
Yet, what moves me along is the enthusiasm in me
I endeavor to improve and wish to carry on with an existence of cowhide
Regardless of the climate I will constantly endeavor to improve.
Simply Grin
Figured life could grant you with a spouse
Tragically behind her magnificence was a blade
Thought making it was a stroll in a recreation area
Never been simple so you losing your track
You've done all you could with no profit
Ushala fye mulukungu kwati rock
Nobody said it would be simple so grin
It will have an effect, kindly grin
Continue to try sincerely and harder
Never surrender iyo ndiye information
Keep your head up to show them your mind
With the goal that you can tolerate outing even in the downpour
Have loads of affection in you to pad the aggravation
Of life's contempt generally tossed your direction
You ain't appalling to confront this strain
Yet, out of difficult situations one comes out experienced
Experienced to confront the universe of bad form
The universe of critics and awful name painters
What number of are out there? Perhaps you can do an enumeration
Simply grin for life gets low like costs in Shoprite checkers ?
#daniel
Flamingo Watching by Kay Ryan | Wednesday, September 27, 2017 | The Essayist's Chronicle with Post Keillor
Any place the flamingo goes,
she brings a city's worth
of furbelows. She appears
unnatural essentially —
excessively striking and impossible to miss
a construction to be pretty,
also, adaptable direct
of peculiarity. Roosted on
those legs, anything she does
appears to be a demonstration. Diving
on her egg or hanging her head
along her back, she's
excessively precise and crooked
to persuade a group of people
she's not kidding around. The normal choose,
they think, would be less pink,
less ready to loosen up their necks,
less flashy overall.
They secretly anticipate that it's some
ineffectively jointed boring dim creature
with gloves for hands
whom God secures.
@writerswrld
@writerswrld
Easy street by Tracy K. Smith | Thursday, September 28, 2017 | The Essayist's Chronicle with Post Keillor
At the point when certain individuals discuss cash
They talk as though it were a puzzling sweetheart
Who went out to purchase milk and never
Returned, and it makes me nostalgic
For the years I lived on espresso and bread,
Hungry constantly, strolling to chip away at payday
Like a lady traveling for water
From a town without a well, then, at that point, living
A couple of evenings like every other person
On broil chicken and red wine.
@writerswrld
@writerswrld
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