Poetry

Regrets?

Regrets?

by sloanranger

Too old am I to taste regrets; too many have gone by,

a smorgasbord of every kind, a meal of every size.

Regrets of love there are but few I gratefully admit,

and misplaced opportunities are easy to forget.

Like the lover of his loss spoken with a sigh,

opportunities are like buses, every hour one goes by.

I try and think sometimes if the end were near,

what would I wish that I had done, what do I hold most dear?

And when the answers come, could I do it now,

Or what road could I take to make it right somehow?

And yes, sad thoughts do occur but I try and keep them brief...

I'd rather wallow more in hope than in despair or grief.