A Poem: Bows

Sometimes you cannot tie things up into neat little bows.
Socks found and paired.
Questions answered before sleep.

Sometimes you cannot do more
than walk in ever decreasing circles.
No closer to puzzles solved than yesterday.

Only aware of an echo of stones
falling into water wells,
and a fatigue unrelieved by rest.

Sometimes you cannot speak with welcome wisdom,
or find strength to lift your own heart,
let alone exercise hands that tend.

Yes, sometimes you cannot make things fit
into boxes with lids.
And every question has the answer, ‘I don’t know’.

Each hopeful possibility petered out.
And time becomes the only means of
reaching a transitory relief.

And faith that anticipates yet
what might be growing in the dark.
Ready to be met by new evidence,

as jonquils in Spring.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
September 2021

Today on my walk I was thinking swirling thoughts in ever decreasing circles, until made aware of the cooing of a white dove in the trees. And on walking onwards, it swooped over me to the tree beyond, as though to say, ‘where-ever you might walk I ‘Peace’, we will be just that bit up ahead.


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