Thanksgiving (For Every Wrong Move)

Somehow I find myself far out of line
from the ones I had drawn.
Wasn't the best of paths -
you could attest to that -
but I'm keeping on.
Giving thanks is sometimes an act of faith.

There was no pot of gold,
hardly a rainbow lighting my way.
But I will be true to the red, black and blues
that colored those days.
To all of you who are acting on faith this year ...

I owe my soul to each fork in the road,
each misleading sign.
'Cause even in solitude, no bitter attitude
can dissolve my sweetest find.

Would our paths cross if every great loss
had turned out our gain?
Would our paths cross if the pain it had cost us
was paid in vain?

Thanksgiving for every wrong move
that made it right.
Happy Thanksgiving from Loud Time.


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