every morning, when you rise
they’ll shout the gloom and whisper hope.
but truth is what your heart accepts,
hear the whispers and you’ll cope.
every morning, when you rise
bruised and battered, full of fail
sing the song that susurrates,
“nine times fallen, next time sail.”
This Blog Intentionally Blank 
Susurrates: whispers, murmers
This a beautifully moving piece. I want to try sailing with the hot air balloons!!
🙂 Thank you. I get more optimistic when the sun comes out.
You should go ballooning. Get thee to New Mexico. As many times as I’ve been, we never took a balloon ride.
P.S. Thinking of you.
Awesome, Dude. I always enjoy your poetry.
Thank you. I appreciate that.