trying to recreate what's been lost--
and taken away.
But there are still
two tiny sparks I'm holding onto
in the most desperate manner.
My fingers entangle themselves in this
wet, soft, moist soil of hope--
clinging and grasping for the steady
strength of home.
Spring now lays itself at my feet
in a kaleidoscope of possibilities
as I emerge anew from this shell.
I have just now read your post and you expressed your feelings so very well. I was both sad and glad as I followed your thougts and I remembered a poem I wrote after my husband's death when I was groping for what was missing. I never found it but now Spring IS here!
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