She wrote that everything changes
Her mantra tattooed on my wrist
That to let go is not so dangerous
Compared to counting whatβs missed
Despite that thoughtful counsel
I find it hard to embrace
I want things as they are, though imperfect
At least then I know the pace
But the practice now is to listen
To sit, and watch, and wait
To notice how new things glisten
As much, or more, than the late
Hard though it is to summon
I hope peace may come in this way
If full I trust in the promise
That its truth will come day by day