like the brush of a wing

these days that pass
like the brush of a wing
laughter that rushes in
on the long arms of the wind
these days that propel me
forward, onward, upward
lift me and hold me high
it is the stones that ground me
in the somber moments
remind me of the depth
of soil of soul
always within my grasp
tips of fingers down
and then to fly
to fly


Leigh-Anne Tyson

Published by Leigh-Anne Fraser

writer, poet, photographer, artist, illustrator, knitter,friend and fine pancake flipper

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