By Paul E. Schindler, Jr.
Regret is futility, never utility.
The moving finger moves fast,
As it scribbles the immutable past.
Regret’s like, I suppose
Trying to change tattooed-on clothes.
I come from regretful stock.
Based on what he said to me,
My father later came to see
Wild oats should have been sown
Before he set his future down.
I’d say, if he were with us still,
Based on what life did to me,
“Oats ain’t always great, you see.”
And so, at the end of the race,
We ended up in the same place.
Decades of marriage, Joy untold,
Life together, Growing old.
Regrets, I’ve had a few,
Too few to mention:
Paul Anka’s reflection.
And yet I must mention one,
Something that I left undone.
A hand of friendship,
A life lesson left unlearned.
Decades of friendship that I missed,
Loving kindness, off my list.
Years as friends, without the hate;
Postponed until a later date.