Our days,
like ravenous clouds,
have chewed on light,
and spit out dark;
But my God
can squeeze out
sweet drops,
known to loosen
a meadowlark's tongue,
eager to sing,
and laughter of little boys
puddles at their feet,
Downpours christen new love
and tap frosty windows
adding ambiance to fire's glow,
sends little ones to their dreams;
Ironically, storms bring their pain,
washing out parades and picnics;
brides refuse to believe it’s luck,
seeing anything but blue skies and sun;
But if we would simply
turn a cloud inside out,
though a travesty at best,
we shall see the great Designer
sewing silvery thread throughout.
A contest entry
- Oh! The Irony by Danna Hobart.
300 points, ended August 4, 2007, 7 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Thanks for entering.
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I think this is beautiful.
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