The Niagara of my grief

flows with thunder's roar

over rocks of disbelief,

and its salty mists soar

high-high to dim dawn's hour,

and paint noon's bright blue sky

a shade of gray dour.

.

Times forever changed,

plans rearranged

for the thief who fouls

the day with his evil grin

and the devil's will to win.

I lash out with pills,

and boxing gloves, cheered on

by faithful friends and loves.

No time to give in to sorrows

I need some more  tomorrows.

11/09/2005

Posted on 11/09/2005
Copyright © 2025 Jane E Pearce