Musings on personal growth, books, motherhood, writing, and more.
There is a point, at last, when every night
Becomes a morning. Those who are awake
To feel the turn will tell you it comes right
When they have almost given up. Daybreak
Reveals its face, then, imperceptibly
At first—like warmer winter days that soon
Discover small green blossoms on a tree,
And then, suddenly, you just know: the tune
Has modulated to a major key;
The mournful movement now has reached a close.
The turn was slow and soft, but finally
You were given the music to transpose.
Look up: the life that haunted you is done.
Your turn has come: a new life is begun.
(Written a few years ago)