Tiptoe softly, waiting pass a thousand tears,
Recovery to come...one thinks,
Shed no more for wasted yesterdays, gone
Left is only fleeting space in time,
Need not but blink an eye
To see it pass into tomorrow.

One chance is all one asks,
To catch a ring upon the carousel
A new start, so oft times blue
A dream of paradise bestowed,
Luck to come, another day, another hour,
Perhaps tomorrow one's wings will soar,

And rise above life's hum-drum core,
To free the cancered soul
Seemingly trapped forever in a maze...

By Shirl A. Steward

 

Art from a theme used on my Care2 profile