She envies those with clear complexion,
Bolder lines or styled perfection,
Longs for leaves with different shape,
Curly locks instead of crepe;
She notices when other flowers
Spread their scent in evening hours,
Wishes she could clone the rose,
Or wear the Lady Slipper’s clothes.
She doesn’t see as her eyes wander
Yearning for whatever’s yonder,
She’s been painted, leaf to stem,
In beauty that could rival them.
Rest, the road exacts its Toll,
Take a load off wearied sole;
Close your eyes and breathe Life in,
Reflect on where your feet have been.
Confident, they marched with ease;
Terrified, ‘neath shaking knees
They stumbled on when doubtful days
Blocked e’en hope’s most brilliant rays.
Pause, let wand’ring feet sit still,
Exhale deep, let lungs refill;
Slow your pace, take time to stroll,
Rest is good for every sole.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 