Life is a foolish girl--endlessly laughing.
What amuses her so I cannot tell.
Wise men have found her constant humor baffling--
A merriment that no hardships can quell.
Though tomorrow the guillotine awaits her,
Today is but a festival of song.
She mocks the very blade that terminates her
As to her certain end she runs headlong.
And yet I find Life's utter folly charming.
She sits on whirling stone and jests with stars.
She braids her hair and shines her rings which tarnish
And strums a tender tune on her guitar.
Perhaps because her presence flouts all logic,
She savors every hour of stolen magic.
Jack Clubb has had short stories published in publications such as Black Creek Review, Coffee-Ground Breakfast, The Magic of Words, Northern Stars, Opinion Magazine, Rockford Review, Sunrise, The Taylor Trust, and Voices From The Valley. He has also had several hundred poems published in the United States, the United Kingdom, and India. Jack is grateful every time an editor gives one of his poems an opportunity to sing or gives him the opportunity to tell a story as he writes feverishly from his century-old house at the foot of the Silver Lake Hills in Los Angeles.