Transformation
I’ll gather up the stones you throw
that gather at my feet like eggs of unhatched days
and lay them one on one into a wall
delicate as the gauze of curtain yet together
sturdy as the roughedged country fieldstone.
For my world lies out in open fields
that roll up as well as down
and are spotted with blue chicory
and yellow Indian paintbrush
and you have only tossed
your red blood seeds of the lovely poppy here
to bloom as well.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
You my Friend…enrich me, each and everyday, with your wit and charm. Ahhh such glorious words. Now I have another poem to place on my fridge. Thank-YOU! {I am better now…with a sigh, I walk on ;-}
This poem was in direct answer to your post, Sallie, and truly written just for you. Though it was just scribbled out as fast as it came, I hope it does mean something to you, and I think I’m just telling you to use what’s thrown at you to make you stronger. This isn’t new to you–you’ve done it well; but I understand that sometimes it just all gets to be a bit much. Love ya.