#8 Dear Past Me

Don’t fret
Old self.
May not be bliss
But still
Be patient,
Not crude
Or foul or ill-
Tongued such is habit.
Nay, don’t sweat:
Friendship will vent
Its soft, warm fumes
As an elf
Would sing you lullabies
To soothe smit
Your guttered cries.
Not long now,
I promise.
Wait but a few
Long years. Yes, long.
Then watch their bloom
Around you,
Their warmth
And be happy.
Live light in lieu
Of deepest bow,
Yet don’t rest too hard
Their troubled storm,
Else cracks form
And right ’comes wrong.
Let this song from bard
Come, and troubles few.

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