If only sadness
could wash itself out like clouds
releasing a long load of rain,
or could dry, like laundry
learning to rise again
on crisp autumnal breezes.
If sadness could turn to crystals,
like snow, and fall, softly, softly
into something quiet and pure--
then, perhaps, it would not seem
so hungry.
I've read this poem several times, and it is so deeply and profoundly felt that any comment of mine would seem an impertinence -- even if the comment were merely to point out how impeccably crafted and how quietly accomplished this poem is!
ReplyDeleteThomas, thank you for the affirmation of both the poem and the feeling behind it.
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