Humble p 's are squared. (p R2) (p R2)
How big a bubble must we have to fit
the friends we've made and those we've yet to meet?
The ones who bring us laughter, love and wit.
The ones who keep the lid on our conceit.
Who ground us and astound us everyday
with ad lib quips that bring us to our knees.
Enlightening and frightening in a way,
which, on reflection, always seems to please.
The relatives and strangers by the shore
who share unspoken moments lost in thought.
When synchronicity says so much more
than reaching goals for which we've fiercely fought.
How big a bubble? What does it keep out?
Strategically placed pins, perhaps, may dissipate all doubt?
poem by Hola Mentirosa
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