Keeping the foe at bay,
in all its guises,
trying to keep the mouth shut tight again.
Make a wish as you touch wood,
utter a vain word or two in vague hope,
sink a pint and smile at the detractors,
dying by inches at the footrail of the bar.
Light a candle, imagine the words you utter,
hold more than a ritual thumb-sucking quality,
a coin for a fountain unseen,
a coin tossed for sport,
the mirror lies yet again,
age has not withered,
wisdom however has yet to arrive.
(For RC: Blessings, however secular or futile)
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