Could I Have At Least Tried?

There are a many things

that I’ve never been able to do,

and thus leading me to this,

to writing poems, and books, too.

I cannot dance, nor croon a simple tune.

And I surely cannot draw, or paint,

aboard a magical hot air balloon.

I cannot fight fires, for I am a writer.

Though I do have this magic wand

that will remain forever, after I am gone.

But it will not help me play the piano,

or build a home for those in need.

It will not help me plant a seed,

that is to spread a few words of hope.

Oh, but then I think it may just do so,

for this wand writes countless words,

much like the melody of a songbird.

It sings upon paper, a kind of unusual flute;

though I do not wish to question it,

for I am rather unusual, too.

And even though there are a many things

that I may never have the chance to do,

there is always something here, for me.

A poem, a play, or a novel each day.

And I’ve seen stars where only darkness lay.

Nothing is as unusual as you might think,

but don’t close your eyes, or yet blink,

for you might miss your one chance

to do whatever it is you most desire,

like dance, or sing, or fight a fire.

Or play the piano, or build homes

for those in need. Or plant a seed

that may spread just a few words of hope.

And if you miss your chance,

you may look to the sky and ask yourself this:

Could I have done all that then?

And even so, could I have at least tried?

Author's Note

Actually written on 09-21-2016