golden on the forest floor
though autumn leaves.
Another gift, not in poem form, is advise I was given once by my dad on a day where everything seemed to be going wrong. In my dispair, I blurted out 'it can't get any worse!'
'Oh yes, it can.'
It held me in check this last weekend when a pipe burst in our bathroom and flooded it, half our bedroom and the living room. And then later in the day we noticed one pupil in our son's eye was more dialated than the other, and off we all rushed to accident/emergency.
That was Sat. Sunday saw a lving room with flagstone flooring that seems to have survived Niagra Falls tumbling onto it and our son seems to be well in himself and to just have odd eyes.
Hopefully, all's well that ends well, as they say.
Thanks dad, I love you.