(laying by the lake in the adoring sun)

copyright © May 2010 by P. R. Lowe

Somewhere someone’s dying,

someone’s being born.

Somewhere someone’s laughing,

someone’s being scorned.

Somewhere someone’s eating,

someone goes without.

Someone’s full of certainty,

someone’s full of doubt.

Somewhere someone’s dancing,

someone else in grief.

Someone lives in trusting,

another, disbelief.

Somewhere someone’s suffering,

and someone’s on the mend.

Somewhere someone’s flexible,

and others never bend.

Someone’s in the middle

and someone’s at the end,

someone’s at the starting point,

and someone starts again.

Someone’s full of love and faith,

another fear and hate.

Someone’s in the garden

and someone’s at the gate.

Someone’s running,

someone’s walking,

someone’s holding still.

One is in the valley

and one is on the hill.

Somewhere someone’s very big

and someone’s really small.

Someone seems to matter,

and others, not at all.

Somewhere someone’s very rich

and someone’s very poor.

Somewhere someone’s letting go

and someone’s wanting more.

Somewhere someone always wins

to one that does the losing,

somewhere someone always bends

to him that does the choosing.

Weak and strong,

and dim and bright,

sometimes quite confusing,

until you look and see them all

like day is to the night.