The Task
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The Task
The tornado that hit my desk,
has collapsed everything...
into a sinkhole,
which I doubt there is any...
coming back from.
Maybe if I organized?
If I could, I would...
or should.
It does not matter,
the battle was lost long ago.
I have contributed hours,
nine minutes and ten days,
plus years without number...
to the effort.
Short skirmishes, and brutal offenses,
that left piles of files,
and ideas strewn across tow floors,
and a hall, but still no end.
Instead to find;
I have still been,
have been,
and surely will be...
unless I change the course of action,
defeated.
Receipts that must be filed,
on things that I will never return.
Paperwork for items;
booklets, like phones,
that will never be read,
but still can not be tossed,
for fear of need.
Scary letters that say;
important,
read first,
past due...
to find they are sales,
now over,
or scams renewed.
I grab the can,
the bin of no return.
No retrieval, and forever.
Slowly and methodically...
I start the New Year,
with a cheerful song,
full of (His) grace...
I no longer fight to keep,
the crazy pace,
it is not a race.
It is His face I seek,
to fill my days,
with praise...
and
peace.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2020
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