Reflections at 70

At birth
The world,
 Was a  blank canvas;
A palette,
Every color imaginable;
A brush,
Placed in my hand
To paint what could be.

At death,
A self-portrait,
Painted through decades
Of what was and is;
With permanent brush stokes
Highlighting how I lived.

A gypsy caravan
Across this beautiful world;
Stopping to paint
Breathtaking beauty of mountaintops,
Piercing pain of valleys,
Exhilaration of achievements,
Despondence in disappointments;
A tapestry of
Laughter, tears, trials, and triumphs;
A marvelous adventure
Lived with those I love.

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