Some people think our three score years and ten*
are just a blip for our immortal souls;
that our reward's determined, say these men,
by how it is we choose to play our roles.
I don't believe my life's a practice run—
a weak abbozzo, just a passing phase;
a paltry test drive, soon to be outdone.
Such thoughts would lead me into a malaise.
The thing that brings true meaning to our lives
is surely that one day we reach the end.
The only part of us that still survives
is stored within the minds of loves and friends.
The prize you seek's already underway,
so learn to make the most of each new day.
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Author Notes
Today's word: abbozzo (n.) a rough draft or preliminary sketch.
* "The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away." Psalm 90:10.
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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