Dusk unfurls. Light, exiled, walks off over the hill.
Thick clouds loom, ruin’s rumors.
A violent wind kicks up, trees shaken.

Against the black and violet sky
a small yellow flower stands,
strong roots and fragile petals.

The wise endure by the toughness of love,
familiar with both horror and kindness,
bearing sorrow and hope together.

The flower’s yellow comes from deep
in yellowness, tender enough for bees,
yet enduring in harsh winds.

Wisdom, neither cynic not optimist, dares
to see the darkness clearly, and the light,
and even before the dawn, to shine.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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