Serendipity flows like loose ivy
along the plains,
like a parched riverbed
it snakes here and there,
selectively it makes its journey,
though from discrimination it refrains.
Like the green vine it emulates,
it has the power to choose
those and that which it comes
in contact with,
malignancy or benign,
it has the potential to
I watch its path
as it winds along the way so right,
righteous is the mood,
Serendipity is here for all of us,
I wonder to myself if I could somehow catch her
or whether, in fact, she’s better left untamed,
is this what she wants?
Should her freedom be saved?
For she is fortuitous,
she always means well,
for those she comes before
she most certainly knows how to
lay down their path,
pull the cards –
so to speak –
share the details,
the ivy of prosperity,
the serendipity of hope.
Who knows what is waiting,
before, left, right,
all around us?
There are certainly many tales of young and old to be told.
And now she draws these from you,
then providing your altered nectar of experience,
the breadth of stories learned from you,
your very being,
as the sweetness of life
which you and her feast upon,
giving both sustenance,
her providing the sticky, hopeful webbing,
the sweet, milky goodness
to go on,
living and breathing.
The talented trailing of ivy continues,
she is fortuitous,
she is bright,
quietly praying for your sterling, lucky independence,
all you see is rainbow,
then she provides you amazing flashes of potent white.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay
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