by Carol Taylor

The good Lord sends me gifts I didn’t earn,
sometimes far in excess of what I’ve sought.
I give him grateful thanks, and then return
to shake the wrappings as an afterthought.

The more I have, the more I seem to need;
I hunger, though my cupboards almost burst.
Each acquisition fans a spark of greed.
My cup is full to brimming; still, I thirst.

When I was younger, people called me poor,
yet I had all the gifts I ever wanted.
Now, happiness depends on getting more
expensive toys I’ll quickly take for granted.

My life was richer when I did without.
Let others pray for rain. God grant me drought.

Carol Taylor administers the metrical workshop Poet & Critic, Previously she served as Administrator of Eratosphere and Associate Editor for light verse at Umbrella and was a guest editor at Light Quarterly. Her poems have appeared in a number of print and online journals and anthologies including Iambs & Trochees, Light Quarterly, The Barefoot Muse, Umbrella, Susquehanna Quarterly, 14 by 14, Lighten Up Online, Tilt-A-Whirl, Concise Delight, Open Poetry’s Hand Luggage Only, and Alsop Review’s Anthology One. She lives in the Houston area and works as a translator.
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Published 16 March 2010