Barbara

 Barbara

I thought I’d

used up all my luck

in Vietnam.

Wrong.

Just look at her.

Nothing strange about it,

not luck at all,

even though she, at the start,

took my name,

it wasn’t until after

I stole her heart.

True love might be a lottery.

If so, I’m so happy 

she took a chance on me.

I often stare in the dark,

while she sleeps, amazed 

at how lucky I am.

But it’s no accident, 

no stroke of luck,

we do not bumble, seldom stumble,

satisfied each day, in every way

with what our life has meant to say.