A mournful mood hovers over me this morning
like a dense fog, thick and oppressive. Thoughts
of what could have been,
what should have been,
what might have been,
replace all others.
Laugher in the hallways,
a carefree smiling face, life’s race run at full speed,
full of joy and well-being.
The fog of mournfulness is heavy, weighing
everything down in its path.
Even the twinkling lights of the newly fir lined
banister cannot banish the grayness of my
To nature I look, noting a tinge of blue beyond the gray.
It is there. Can you see it? Hope. Seeping
through the gray to permeate our lives
once again. It is always there behind the fog.
This poem is being submitted to the Poetry Friday community hosted this week by Elizabeth Steinglass. She offers a wonderful piece on a Menorah. Please check it out!