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Personal Note:

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Poem

I heard the knock on the door 
but I chose not to answer. 
I heard the whisper in my ear 
but I chose not to listen. 

I saw the light on the horizon 
but I turned off the switch. 
I saw the window swing open, 
but I chose to close it again. 

How shortsighted I was then. 
How stoic in the safety of familiarity. 
Opportunities come knocking so 
softly we can hardly hear them. 

They whisper like soft breezes 
and merely ruffle a hair. 
They shine a tiny glimmer of hope 
which needs nurturing like a beacon. 

Take the gift, unwrap it. 
Marvel at the contents, and 
take it on board the boat of 
opportunity - quickly - 

blink, and it will be gone.

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