[A traveling poem is begun by one woman, then passed on to the next, and so forth, until each has written a stanza. This traveling poem was begun by Scheherazade.]
It’s been said: For everything
you lose, you will gain
something; for everything
you gain, you will lose
something.
It seems to me that to live is to
experience pain.
It’s been said: For everything
you remember, you forget
something. It seems to me that
the body remembers
pain. The mind forgets it.
How else could we live
in sanity?
It’s been said by Auntie Mame
that “Life is a banquet, but
most poor suckers are starving
to death.”
It has been said: You are the bows
from which your children
as living arrows
are sent forth.
It seems to me
someone forgot to mention
that these arrows are aimed
straight back toward our own hearts.
It has been said: For everything
there is a season, for all things a reason.
So why don’t we accept
Mother Nature’s dictates?
She’ll chose our pathways,
our lives, our mates,
and do a better job than us,
unemotional, rational, wise is She.
It has been said: Many times,
to experience life
is to experience suffering.
The cure, it seems to me,
is to be gentle with
ourselves and all
living things.
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