As I sit, rolling dice and telling lies,
And listening to others who surprise
With insights, comments, schemes that they devise,
The joys of years gone by return to mind.
The days between have, in the main, been kind,
Although there’s been enough mischance to find
For those who care to look, as I oft do.
Despite my pleasures and how they accrue,
My eyes will search for sorrows old and new,
My hands will feel for wounds and search out scars
And read in them the past as futures, stars;
Each line I see therein, today’s joy mars.
The dice, and stories others with them tell,
Fall as they will. I pray that they roll well.

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