My days continue their trip.
At first they dared an tried, but limped -
Then they strode and raced and leapt -
Now they merely march, out of step,
And I know now
That they may stop instantly.
They slowly move too fast
Leave me behind their pace
Wondering where they were
Or where they're going -
Disjoined from time
Unleashed from mind.
They are wanton, errant butterflies
Busy at their own suffice.
They seem not to be mine;
Visit me to only pantomime
The partnership we once knew
When we moved hand in hand
Toward the same distant land.
Now they frolic by the wayside
Leaving me somewhere to wait
Till they catch up to join the trek -
They are less aware than I
That we keep the path of fate.
"My Days Continue Their Trip" flows under the cadence of ontological and teleological sounds.
A profound poetical writing.
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader)
Reviewed on April 30, 2004
Andrea,
This is beautiful rendering of a lifes path.
"They are wanton, errant butterflies
Busy at their own suffice.
They seem not to be mine;
Visit me to only pantomime
The partnership we once knew
When we moved hand in hand
Toward the same distant land.
Now they frolic by the wayside
Leaving me somewhere to wait
Till they catch up to join the trek -
They are less aware than I
That we keep the path of fate. "
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
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A profound poetical writing.
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
This is beautiful rendering of a lifes path.
"They are wanton, errant butterflies
Busy at their own suffice.
They seem not to be mine;
Visit me to only pantomime
The partnership we once knew
When we moved hand in hand
Toward the same distant land.
Now they frolic by the wayside
Leaving me somewhere to wait
Till they catch up to join the trek -
They are less aware than I
That we keep the path of fate. "