If I were a different person,
I’d give up a lot of my cursin’.
My prospects would brighten, not worsen;
If I were a different soul.
If I had a penchant for money,
I’d subsist on quenelles cooked with honey.
My oceanfront view would be sunny;
If I had a different goal.
If I had a talent for fashion,
I’d have closets to stash all my cache in.
Top designers would worship my passion;
If I played a different role.
But all this conjecture is crazy.
It’s not that I’m careless or lazy;
An orchid won’t sprout from a daisy –
I know what’s beyond my control.
I accept that my limits arrest me;
If I didn’t they may have distressed me.
Still I try to put forward my best me;
And I hope there’s enough to extol.
Ilene Bauer (http://primetimerhyme.blogspot.com)