A fabled
February day
the brilliant one
I did not have
today. . .

and yet,
there passes yet another,

though the sun sinks low,
and light does fade away,
this other day
I’ve actually had
and am here still having–

the rest,
the work
to heal, to mend,
to move a little forward,
some marvels I can’t yet describe
nor know exactly which and how
I’m moving toward,

with whatever strength
I catch
that the universe
does send,
and whichever
good, bad,
and indifferent things
are even now unraveling.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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