But wait!
Why ruin a whole page
when all we know for sure
would fit on a scrap?
The air is heavy
with remorse for what they do.
The pond gropes its way to spring;
the words are half-melted.
Wind enters with a roar,
sweeping across the land
until even the oaks
think the storm was their idea.
Wings are for birds
and the very blest.
Most of us shuffle
restless and unsure
hoping
for a clear day
and maybe a glimpse
of forever.
I love these two lines:
“until even the oaks
think the storm was their idea.”
Great write!
Many thanks, Angela.
Well, Angela ‘stole’ my favorite lines … but, of course, there are always more in your beautiful poetry, Sarah … like:
‘Wings are for birds
and the very blest.’
I feel blest every time I visit your blog and linger on your lovely lovely ‘thoughts’. XO ♥
Diane,
You are surely an angel!
Thank you for the lift you always give!
I am such a fan of your work and deeply appreciate
every single second you spend with mine.
Thank you!
sarah
I love your use of language and imagery. Beautiful!
Hi Brenda,
I so much appreciate your visit and your
kind comment.
Thank you!
Sarah