We Wouldn't Be We

                                             

I came across this poem today and forgot how much i love e.e. cummings...how beautiful everything must have seemed from this man's eyes. It is late August and I always wonder how this comes to be: us who love summer and have longed for it's arrival so badly in the bone chilling days of winter are now looking forward to the cool of autumn. This is amazingly the human condition. The grass is continually greener on the other side, even if in our recent memory we had paced those emerald yards without content. When it's cold we long for the hot. When we are old we long to be younger. When we live in the city we long for the country. We can always be richer yet life can always be simpler. Contentment is something that is a learned life habit. It is nothing one is graced with. It begins with thankfulness: the ability to look around yourself and be utterly grateful...even in great hardship. This is a class in which I may always be a pupil. This is something that would change every area of my life if i could ever really grasp it. Will I ever really grasp it?

If by: e.e. cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,  And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,  Life would be delight,--  But things couldn't go right  For in such a sad plight  I wouldn't be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence,  And past was present, and false was true,  There might be some sense  But I'd be in suspense  For on such a pretense  You wouldn't be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square,  And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee  Things would seem fair,--  Yet they'd all despair,  For if here was there  We wouldn't be we.