Feeling painful and forlorn
There is no poem in my head.
Outside the sky is grey
This summer morn.
The wind does battle with the clouds
And I must battle at my end
To help my knee to mend.
The curtains billow like sails in the wind.
A yacht must harness that power,
Not break its mast;
But tack and turn and use it.
At end of day the birds return
To the comfort of their nest.
They cannot let the wind's force
Leave them stranded on the beach.
They struggle through;
Sometimes pushed back
But undiscouraged,
They fly true.
I climb inside my head
And peek out at the sky,
The clouds are retreating
The blue is shining through.
I slowly stand and slowly walk
My body's made a pact for health;
My will and patient effort,
Like the birds in the South Easter,
Will steer the path.
The clouds of pain already lifting;
Soon I'll step with a spring
Into a clear summer day again.
Sharon Heaney Stansfield
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