This morning finds me mute and so I write;
My spirit, sore and sullen as the day.
Yet with just bounty, sadly still I gripe
Of futures dreamt that wretched time waylaid.
Did I but choose or was my course fair given?
Did fate or chance etch lines upon my chart?
Will fortunes rise or yet remain unleavened?
Upon whose stage do I now rant my part?
No gods or kings have deemed this life as cursed,
Though long I’ve trekked, my course remains unknown.
If but an actor, no lines have I rehearsed.
If fortune’s fool, the die long-cast is done.
Should to this journey fate remain unkind,
The greatest hardship leaves my love behind.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.