I offer you this poem of the week as I contemplate matters of time, effort and how to know when enough is just that… enough.
A Full Cup
by Robert Creeley
Age knows little other than its own complaints.
Times past are not to be recovered ever.
The old man and woman are left to themselves.
When I was young, there seemed little time.
I hurried from day to day as if pursued.
Each thing I discovered, another came to possess me.
Love I could ask no questions of, it was nothing.
I ever anticipated, ever thought would be mine.
Even now I wonder if it will escape me.
What I did, I did finally because I had to,
Whether from need of my own or that of others.
It is finally impossible to live and work only for pay.
I do not know where I’ve come from or where I am going.
Life is like a river, a river without beginning or end.
It’s been my company all my life, its wetness, its insistent movement.
The only wisdom I have is what someone must have told me,
neither to take not to give more than can be simply managed.
A full cup carried from the well.