jeune et jolie

Regular poem for everyone

---

I was young once but never

beautiful in the way a spring

day can be, sparse bands of

cloud in an endless stretch

of blues in all directions, up

and over my head and behind

where my eyes can’t see I

know the blues continue from

the warmth and prickle of

sunshine on my necks nape.

Past the green fields where

little lambs gambol and their

parents gamble with a hawk

every morning if they aren’t

the first to wake, past the

emerald barrier there is blue

darker and deeper than the

blue of the birds home, darker

than the worst thoughts of winter

I don’t fear many everythings

but there are deep things beneath

that keep me from sleep and I

don’t spend long looking at the water

for fear of drowning in what may be.

So instead I turn my eyes to greenfield

and little lambs that play together cheerily,

jeune et jolie and pure and free and leaping

joyously like you thought your life would be

I count the lambs, then count the sheep

and leant against the wall I fall asleep

---

Dream of

Spring days reach out towards heat we await

spindly fingers now lush and living and little

buds bloom into big leaves and trees become

canopies dappling the roads below in dancing

shadows and soft golden light, better days

ahead of us, better days ahead better days ahead

of us

Awake and already I’m in a better day and ready to

dream of better still.