We cannot drink from Time’s clear-water streams
Or build magic bridges to get to our dreams
We can tilt back our heads catching moments that slip
From the sky to the tree, from the tree to our lips
Tasting each drop as it melts on our tongue
Seeds for the dreamer or notes for a song
***
Life is a garment of pockets it seems
Some filled with promise and others with dreams
If sorrow has spilled from life’s pocket today
We know that joy is one seam-width away
Janet~
Janet~
I really like your metaphor comparing life to a garment with pockets. So true!
ReplyDeleteI haven't been 'around' as much lately...a few long days with no time to 'read' or 'write.' Hopefully I will get back on track!
Mary, Life is like that. I hope you can have the patience and will to press on!
ReplyDelete