My wants,
More self-indulgent
Than essential
Be dwindling now,
As I compose
To thus appease,
A mind at times
Neglectfully in need…
I’d worried some
Of human habits
I struggle to let go,
This mortal urge
That one so finds
Bent still akin
To Babbitt kind,
The while hardly
Be sufficient time
To nourish soul,
Now meagrely mine…
Hence hasten I
To now replace
All glitters false,
That I may face,
Lest suffer risk
The quietude I seek,
No matter be
This price one paid
Alas to gain serenity!
Poetry on a Canapé 
I don’t know anyone who doesn’t struggle to let go, and yet the new moment rests there. Lovely poem.
As you so aptly put it, ‘the moment rests there’. For this is not a new feeling, but yet it lingers, as though we might be loosing more than we are bound to benefit. Thank you dear friend. Jean-Jacques