Life is a library,
with its dusty old pages
and its sensation stories,
so full of possibility.
The words paint colors,
from crimson-hued dragon
to skies of pure azure.
Some characters pop
from the pages where they're held.
But others remain constantly dull,
perpetual wallflowers.
And there's always that unexpected,
altering change of plot.
Life is the Lincoln Tunnel,
beginning immersed in light,
with that dark, dark middle,
until you reach the light
of the other end,
in its infinite cheer.
Life is a pumpkin patch,
with oh so many chances.
But some pumpkin patches
lie in soil almost fallow.
The pumpkins are teensy,
almost rotten, but full
of gutsy, gooey potential.
Life is a stone castle,
rising tall on the horizon,
mysterious but not al-
together scary, simply
a touristy landmark.
Life is life,
shimmering
with tears of
joy and cheer,
toil and fear,
sorrow. Life
is a butterfly,
emerging from
its cocoon,
fearful and awed
by the surrounding
beauty.
