Cyclical Molting
In this the third
Week of April
I loofahed from top to my toe
Every inch of
my scaly magnificence
bidding the lost parts go
Always loving a monday,
A first,ground zero
A change
Whether August or May
Or dawn of new day
I eagerly sought to know
To be at the pop
that starts a new race
On clean untrod virgin snow
What I sorely
lacked
Was conviction
In the self care
I hoped
To attain
To fall,then to rise
going wiser along
Without starting over again
Using what's gleaned
To propel me
To envision the pot holes and snares
Knowing that life
It is,what it is
Never advertised freely from cares
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