The small, decorative, city trees
suspend a wet glow of foliage
over gray sidewalks under gray skies.
Roses, bouqueted on my table,
are brilliant pink and red
and gentle yellow, most unfolded,
now, beyond the last swirl of center,
ruffled and open almost like peonies.
Candle flames taste the pale shadows
of an overcast day and I hold grace . . .
a little at a time . . . in a mind
easily wearied, eager for distraction,
but grateful, yes, grateful,
for the grace to say "Yes."
suspend a wet glow of foliage
over gray sidewalks under gray skies.
Roses, bouqueted on my table,
are brilliant pink and red
and gentle yellow, most unfolded,
now, beyond the last swirl of center,
ruffled and open almost like peonies.
Candle flames taste the pale shadows
of an overcast day and I hold grace . . .
a little at a time . . . in a mind
easily wearied, eager for distraction,
but grateful, yes, grateful,
for the grace to say "Yes."
Yes. I love how this poem begins in grays and ends in grace! I can hear the ghosts of many great poets commending this poem. And oh, how familiar I am with having a mind "easily wreaked, eager for distraction." But this poem summons us to grace, and how can we not respond with our own Yes?
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