Your mind had settled in a dreary rut;
Like standing water, it had lost its go;
Or one who’d swapped a palace for a hut,
You told yourself that truth was more than show.
But life would not be life if breezy change
Refused to blow across a barren land;
A force of nature came to rearrange
Your station which was safe and yet so bland.
And now you start to look at things anew
And see life’s folded blossom open up,
And long to tiptoe barefoot through the dew
And pour creative spirit in your cup.
Though no one’s certain what shall come of it,
That doesn’t mean it’s not the perfect fit.
Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash
Mira
