the seasons change: we know it’s true,
and yet, it seems improvident
to act as though we’ll make it through
a cold that seems so permanent.
there’s only so much we can do
with nails and hammers, wire and rope,
and yet, we strive, or we eschew
propelled by little else
than hope
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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Hope is everything. 🙂 Happy New Year!
You, too!