 |
| Wild Iris, Fairbanks, Alaska |
A day of depression,
The morning not clear,
Not the whys nor the wherefores.
Pushing back (from my friends)
As the cloud of talk floats--
I'm as hazy as dust motes.
The air warm and sultry,
My heart distant,
Not too lonely.
It's been worse.
I've been worse.
Remember, my mother said (as she was dying),
"It always gets better."
And it does.
No comments:
Post a Comment