Note to Myself

Concentrate, you god-damned ingrate!
Sure, she's gone, but think of all the splendid
Things which you still have. I will not make
A list for you, but that's something you ought
To try, and when you're finished, note the day:
Thanksgiving, and endorse its spirit.
One loss (rather small, in my view) shouldn't
Cast a frightful pall. The sun shines all around.
Lift up your head, and concentrate.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-11-22 at 14:15

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Rob Graber
Let us by all means try to talk ourselves into being not grumpy for what we don't have, but grateful for what we do!
2018-11-23


Bibek
I think you are right. Love the somehow harsh auto-suggestive tone of the poem.
2018-11-22