|Santa Rita Mountains in Arizona 8-7-2010|
I guess it’s too late to be a ballerina, lithe, graceful and pretty.
I guess it’s too late to own my own horse and ride wildly over the fields.
I guess it’s too late to build a log cabin, all from scratch with my own trees and on my own land.
I guess it’s too late to live in the mountains, far away from anyone or anything.
I guess it’s too late to live in Idaho, a place more wild and beautiful than I could have imagined.
I guess it’s too late to be an Indian princess and live in a teepee and wear a buckskin dress and moccasins.
I guess it’s too late to become a doctor and practice in some faraway place where I am most needed.
I know it’s too late to save my poor dog, the beautiful Irish Setter—poetry in motion. I let him down. He was my friend. He was my heart.
But it is never too late to sing my own song, or write my own story.
It is never too late to love, or forgive,
or to dream.
~ Kathie Adams Brown (4-1-15)