For a Dear Friend

These birds wheeled overhead the other day
These birds wheeled overhead the other day

That roiling mass of moisture

Of bound up tears

That drifts across this spinning ball,

Of mutable fortunes.

Sometimes unbinding

A gentle rain…or a flood,

But not to be predicted or controlled.

Just endured.

And so I stand, looking up,

While the drops course down my face

Never ending,

But all the while searching…

Searching for little patches of sunshine.

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