In my dogged determination to remain positive I have allowed three weeks minus one day to elapse since the tragic loss of my youngest son. During this time Rhonda and I went on a historic tour of Virginia and Washington, D.C. and I met with my cousin, Steve, for a jaunt into Manhattan.
Before the trip, while waiting for my daughters to arrive from Ohio, I wrote the following poem:
HOPE
It’s not the best and not the worst
But wavering in between.
Crayola candles blue and yellow
Melting into green.
The wick is flickering in a lamp;
A beam drifts through the fog.
Then plunging onward into darkness
Daggers pierce the bog.
Soft raindrops splash into a keg
Beneath a mangled oak
Then bravely peeping through a cloud
Faint light the fetters broke.
This verse will be in my forthcoming poetry book, I Walked my Dog This Morning. More on the trip later.