Fate

Fate

Day 21 of 30 Days of Poetry

The word wyrd, letters shaped in an old-fashioned style, in black on textured white paper
It's said what's for you won't go by
No matter how you run or hide.
The swiftest arrow cannot fly
Beyond the reach of time and tide.

Does life mean less cut short at birth
Than when one lives to ripe old age?
How best to reckon one soul's worth
Would tax the mind of any sage.

Each dawning day might be your last
So why not spend it in good cheer?
And once the final die is cast
Embrace your lot with conscience clear.

Forget about outrunning Fate:
Your life's to live, not sit and wait.

Wyrd biþ ful aræd

Old English, from “The Wanderer”: Fate is totally relentless

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