Jane Hirshfield

Three-Legged Blues

Always you were given
one too many, one too few.
What almost happens, doesn’t.
What might be lost, you’ll lose.
The crows will eat your garden.
Weeds will get what’s left.
Your cats will be three-legged,
your house’s mice be blessed.
One friend will take your husband,
another wear your dress.
No, it isn’t what you wanted.
It isn’t what you’d choose.
Your floors have always slanted.
Your roof has paid its dues.
Life delivered you a present—
a too-small pair of shoes.
What almost happened, won’t now.
What can be lost, you’ll lose.