Grip of Gold

foggy-grasses

Golden are her tawny tresses,

Golden are her thoughts of late;

Gold her dreams of greener dresses –

Dipped in gold, her dreams await

Days of golden-sunshined splendour,

Tucked neath golden afternoons;

Patient, she will guard her golden

Songs as hope sings gilded tunes.

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Of Words and Water

Jan Lake duck2

Freedom forms feathers –

Rows and rows standing at attention,

Roman Legionnaires linked with their brothers,

Trained to repel any onslaught;

For,

Knowing my true worth,

Your words

Drip,

Bead,

Drop,

Puddle around me.

And I, like the duck,

Am not wet.

 

Epilogue

Jan Lake burnt blueberries

Out of the fire, something to eat,

Out of the chaos, something sweet;

As sure as the sunrise from darkness is torn,

After the heartache, Hope is reborn.

****

My husband and I stumbled across a delightful blueberry patch growing in an area devastated by fire. What a delicious promise that the very things in life that distress and challenge us can be the beginning of something beautiful and fruitful  – if we will allow them to transform us.