Saving Grace

Now as gray as an old mare
I shade the silver in my hair.
It's not shame I choose to hide,
but the carousel inside.

In this cold place
where I feel grief
stealing days……
this quiet thief.

It comes, the same
as it will go.
Exactly like
a winters snow.

Sometimes brief, and short,
and light.
At others
a blizzard
void of white.

Unexpected, unprepared;
like a child
feeling scared.

When at last the sun comes out,
roaring with its shout.

So joyful is
again that day,
I turn its way.

Towards the UP,
away from down.
Which inevitably
comes back round.

Until then
I'll dance, I'll fly
For in the end
the by, and by.

              by Gloria Martin aka barefootmuse

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