To live in the moment, I'll be glad to try
So long as she doesn't expect me
To set aside as mere distraction
All the wishes the moment can't satisfy.
I'm willing, for instance, to be more attentive
On my walks alone to the river and back
If she thinks I should be, so long
As it's understood she'll be glad to read
Any comments about them I want to send,
Which seems to suggest that the moment
Needs more than itself to be complete.
And if, when she visits, instead of walking
Down to the beach, she prefers to sit on the porch
And talk about why her job in public relations
At a resort hotel doesn't fulfill her wish
To serve the public, I won't use her advice
Against her, won't recommend
That she try to be more accepting.
I'll do my best to listen with sympathy
And make suggestions about other work
Available now that she might like more.
And while I do, I may speculate to myself
About work not available that might suit her best.
It's easy for me to picture her as a scout
On a wagon train, skilled in riding ahead
To choose a campsite, admired for her prudence
Whereas others, impatient to reach the end,
Are liable to push their luck.
For her to live in the moment then
Doesn't mean believing the site she's chosen
Is perfect. I can hear her admitting
She wishes it lay nearer a woods,
With fuel at hand for the cooking fires,
Though she's glad there's a brook nearby
And an ample patch of grass for the oxen.
As for the river they've been hoping to cross,
There isn't time now to reach it by sundown.
Tomorrow she can help them find a spot
Where the banks are less steep and rocky,
The water more shallow and more slow.
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