Lost-in-Thought Picnic
A picnic day, yet lost in my own maze,
my bag forgotten—left on the bus
more times than I can count.
Confusion circles me like a restless wind.
Because the spoon was in the bag,
because the drink was in the bag,
because the money was in the bag—
and I carried too many things
with no bag at all.
And then, moments came
when I could have left my mark,
stepped forward, done something meaningful—
yet I let them drift away.
Frustrated with myself,
I whisper a quiet promise:
may this never happen again.
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